The Place Between
by Psicygni
Summary: "No, Gaila. I am not, absolutely not going going to walk into Commander Spock's office and suggest that we pretend to date for an entire summer. I mean, we… I… he's not… I couldn't even spend that much time with him, nor would I want to. He's so… he's just really… I have professional mores, Gaila. Standards of conduct that this… just, no. No. No, thank you for the idea, but no."
1. Chapter 1

_Unlike some WIPs that I may have started and then set aside, this one I have actually written all the way to the end. It's all rough and still needs to be read through, edited, and tweaked which is why I'm not just posting it all at once, but there's no chance I'll do something like get halfway through and then walk away! I promise! And I promise that I'll update as regularly as I can and as real life allows. _

_I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!_

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><p>Nyota has her entire summer work schedule for her research paper planned out, with her notes collated and color coded for deadlines she plans to meet each week and with meetings with Dr. Carrick on her calendar. So, when Dr. Carrick's wife gets transferred to Alpha Lyrae III the day after finals end, Nyota watches her carefully constructed summer crumble around her.<p>

"I'm going to find a new advisor for this paper. Somehow. It took me so long to even find Carrick in the first place, and then to decide to focus on pluricentric use of Standard and how it relates to theories of cultural relativism that I'm not giving up just because of this. And I'm going to submit it for publication and that would be just…" Nyota trails off, imagining herself with a published paper on her resume and thinking of the _Enterprise_'s sleek lines, of commendations and recommendations from professors, and of Lieutenant stripes waiting for her even before graduation if she can manage to earn them. "I have to get this written this summer, I just do."

"You're crazy," Gaila says from where she's laying her bunk. She toes aside a pile of filmplasts and flexes her feet as she yawns.

Nyota ignores her, already adding names to a list. Lieutenant Weyer or Commander Amano, maybe, and if not him then Professor Engstrom is on campus for the break between semesters.

"I am not crazy," she adds as she looks up Amano's ID to send him a message.

"Tell that to the poor professor who gets stuck overseeing this project of yours."

"I will. As soon as I find them."

But finding a new advisor is slightly more challenging than Nyota thought it would be.

It turns out that Weyer got reassigned to the _Antares_ and spends forty five minutes telling Nyota about it, long after she's slipped the filmplast with her proposal back in her bag.

Amano is on personal leave for personal reasons, taking some personal time, which Gaila immediately decides involves a clandestine trip to Risa.

Engstrom is already overseeing three other cadets' projects and while she glances at Nyota's outline and listens as Nyota promises that she barely needs guidance, just really a signature, she shakes her head and suggests that Nyota pursue an independent study in the fall.

"I'm already taking an expanded course load next semester," Nyota explains. "I was really hoping to do this over the summer in order to-"

"I'm sorry, Uhura. Good luck, though. It seems like an interesting project."

"Yes sir," Nyota replies, straightening her back when it threatens to slump. "Thank you."

Her Organian Society and Culture instructor, Lieutenant Commander Haught, is spending the break with his grandchildren and her Biolinguistics professor, Lieutenant Irani, is conducting research of her own. Professor Girbach who taught Xenoorthography says probably not, Commander Wakeman whose Intermediate Etymology class Nyota loved says maybe and then a day later regretfully says he can't. Her Advanced Morphology professor, Commander Spock, informs her he's not available before even listening to the topic of her paper.

"Beach," Gaila says that afternoon when Nyota gets back to the dorm. "Swimming. Guys. Girls. Dating. No research, no libraries, no papers. Really, Ny, they're all doing you a favor."

"Hmmm."

"Let's go get a drink. Let's get two. We can celebrate a long, long summer of fun, relaxation, and good old vacation here on Earth."

"Mmmm."

"No homework, just us at the bar. Happy hour. The happiest of all the hours."

"Uh huh."

"No responsibilities."

"I'm sure."

"Sleeping."

"Sounds nice."

"Hanging out with your friends."

"That'd be great."

"Listening to your roommate when she's having a conversation with you."

"Yep."

"Not having your nose in a padd during a discussion."

"Sure."

"Nyota," Gaila groans and Nyota finds the padd summarily pulled from her hands. "What are you even doing?"

"Finding an advisor for my project."

"They all said no."

"They all said no the first time," Nyota corrects. "I'm not done yet."

But trying different professors is even more disheartening, something she tries to ignore even as Gaila frowns at her with every increasing rejection.

Lieutenant Steiger sends her an apologetic email highlighting Nyota's academic accomplishments that would make her an honor to work with, which feels great, but he also sends his regrets that he's not available, which makes her want to grind her teeth.

An inquiry to Commander Kiani comes back with the standard 'Fleet form response when an officer is on a long haul voyage and out of contact, and Professor Nylund never gets back to her, which figures because Nyota's really scraping the bottom of the barrel with him.

Engstrom says no, again, Irani really is too busy, and Girbach, it turns out, isn't actually qualified to oversee such a complex project, so even while Nyota congratulates herself on finding research that is above the skill set of a commissioned officer, she still feels a sinking in her chest at the thought of yet another professor who can't work with her. Commander Spock returns a one-line email saying he remains previously engaged for the summer months and she groans and tosses her padd on her bed, scrubbing her hands over her face.

"You know how in first year orientation they list all the things that make a good Starfleet officer?"

"Nyota, they all said _no_."

"Dedication, perseverance, patience, endurance."

"Ny, do it next semester. Do it next year."

"Diligence. Willingness to see a project through."

"You are ridiculous."

"I'm going to ask them all again."

"You are not."

"No, I am. I'm one of the best students in our year, my topic is interesting and relevant to the current focus of research at the Academy and Starfleet, and with all the new trade routes opening up because of the Ras Alhague Treaty we just signed with-"

"-I am not listening. Mostly because my ears will bleed if I hear anything else about politics-"

"- The Ambassadors from Saiph Prime, Starfleet could use more officers trained in sociolinguistics. You're the one who's always saying this, that we rely so heavily on Standard and we assume everyone speaks it like a native speaker does, but-"

"-I cannot hear you-"

"-Well, take the pillow off your head. And it's an important treaty, Gaila, without it the Saiph's wouldn't be in the Federation, and-"

"I'm dying."

"-You're fine. It's just, it's important. Really important that if we're all out there on these missions that we're taking into account biological, social, and cultural differences in our speech patterns and word choices and-"

"I have some choice words for you. Bar. Beer. Wine. Tequila, Nyota. Tequila. Consider it Orion for 'you are going to have a nervous breakdown if you never relax.'"

Nyota sighs and sits heavily on her bed. "When I find an advisor, we'll go out to celebrate."

"Really?" Gaila asks, perking up. "Or is this that thing where you say you'll go out and have fun but you actually go to the library instead?"

"That is fun," Nyota mutters.

"As much fun as badgering professors into working with you?"

"Shut up," Nyota sighs, which just makes Gaila smile at her.

"Nah. Orions are biolinguisticsocialculturalxenoly predetermined towards talking. Good thing I got stuck with a communications track cadet for a roommate."

"It is a good thing. Also, that's not a word."

"Wow. _Really_. It isn't? That's not a word? I had no idea, Ny, so, so glad that you-"

"Are so proficient at linguistics that not only can I identify made up words my insufferable roommate creates, but also find an advisor for my research project? Thanks, Gaila. I love you, too."

Leaving Gaila watching a holvid, Nyota tries Lieutenant Cantos, Professor Trussot, and Lieutenant Commander Damadr's offices, but they're already shut up for the summer, which leaves Commander Spock as the only instructor in the xenolinguistics department who might still be around. Not that she's asked him, since he doesn't exactly engender casual discussion in the break room, but she's pretty sure that whatever he's working on is here on campus.

Still, she hesitates before walking down the hall to his door but finally decides that the worst thing he can do is say no a third time.

When she gets closer, the chatter of conversation coming down the hall is nearly impossible to attribute to his office, since while other professors often have bits of dialogue playing or snippets of recordings playing, or are hosting students or other professors for a meeting, walking past the Commander's door is usually an exercise in listening to near silence. But when she reaches his office, she finds the door open and more people standing in his office than she's ever seen in there. The handful of times she went to his office hours in over the last semester to talk about a paper or quiz, she got the distinct impression that nobody else ever stopped by.

She recognizes one of the Ambassadors from Saiph Prime, and to her surprise, standing next to the tall, willowy humanoid, is none other than Captain Pike.

"Sorry, sirs," she immediately says when he and the Commander both turn to look at her. She tries to back away before she can intrude further. "I'll come back another time."

"She will no do!" the Ambassador says, pointing a long, tapered finger at Nyota and turning shrewd, dark eyes on her that feel strangely piercing.

"I apologize," Nyota says carefully in Saiphian. She's only studied the language a bit since the Academy library only has padds with introductory levels on it, but it's simple enough and the lexical tones aren't that hard to master, so she squares her shoulders and soldiers onward despite how off putting the Ambassador's words were, plus how disconcerting the race is in general, with their leathery gray skin and completely black eyes with no discernable irises or pupils. "This one does not know the offense this one has caused, but this one apologizes for the interruption," she says as politely as she can, hoping she used the correct word for 'interruption' and not 'table.'

The Ambassador tilts her head slightly, her long, black hair swinging with the motion, before she turns from Nyota to look at Captain Pike again.

"She is solitary. As is your Commander. We expected better options from your Federation," the Ambassador says, her voice tinny through the translator.

"Your Excellence," Captain Pike says, slow and careful. "You requested that you work with a Vulcan, specifically. Commander Spock is among our most esteemed officers and he-"

"No!" The Ambassador's tone is cold and sharp through her translator. "He is forsaken."

"He is… what?" Pike asks, glancing at the Commander, who just looks back at him with a blank expression.

"He will not do. You will not do. She will not do," the Ambassador says and shakes her head, her hair swaying across her back. "I will depart."

"Ambassador, please," Pike says. "Perhaps if you explain, we can-"

"Bring me one who is combined!"

"I'm not… I'm not sure as to-"

The Ambassador makes a clicking noise and the universal translator gives an error beep instead translating it, but Nyota gets the distinct impression that it's akin to a sigh.

She glides out, her robes billowing, and Nyota hastily steps to the side to get out of her way.

When she's gone, her footsteps fading down the hall and her robes snapping behind her as she turns a corner, Pike rubs at his forehead for a long moment.

"Damn dilitium crystals," he mutters. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "Mr. Spock."

"Captain?"

"Fix this."

Pike brushes past Nyota and is through the door before the Commander can finish saying 'yes sir.'

Complete silence follows his departure and Nyota stands with her back pressed against the doorframe, wondering if she has to say anything before she, too, leaves.

Before she can decide, the Commander looks up from his desk and pins her with that sharp gaze she remembers so well from his lectures. He's intimidating on the best of days, and though his steady gaze is reinforcing how he doesn't incite the type of rapport and ease she enjoys with other faculty, she tries to focus on how he's always been helpful and patient with any questions she's brought to him.

"I'm sorry, sir, I can come back another time, sir. I didn't intend to interrupt."

"You have already expressed that sentiment, Cadet."

"I- yes."

The silence stretches and she runs her finger along the edge of the filmplast hand, before she realizes she's doing it and makes her hands stay still.

He hasn't looked away from her and doesn't look like he intends on dismissing her, so she swallows and says, "I came to ask you, again, whether you'd consider serving as an advisor for my project, Commander. Lieutenant Carrick had to transfer quite suddenly, and without him I don't have a professor to work with on this paper."

"I am aware," the Commander says, his voice so cool and so dismissive that she considers just giving him an apology and stepping backwards through the door, letting it close between them.

It would be so easy to just walk away from the slight discomfort and awkwardness of the room, but that would also mean walking away from one of her last chances to do this paper this summer, so she tightens her grip on her filmplast and straightens her back.

"I don't need much oversight, just really someone to sign the forms for the department, and-"

"I am not predisposed to advising a project without an opportunity to provide adequate input and guidance. Perhaps another faculty member would allow you the flexibility you desire."

"No, sir. I mean, of course, but I just meant that if you don't have a lot of time, I don't necessarily need-"

"If I have not made myself clear, I will continue to explain the matter. However it should be apparent that I cannot serve as your faculty advisor," he says with that same, smooth tone he takes with students who have clearly not done the reading, the tone that suggests that not only does he not have any interest in the current discussion, he has no intention of allowing it to continue.

She feels her cheeks heat and draws a deep breath, trying to push the angry, embarrassed jump in her stomach down.

"Of course," she makes herself say.

She slides her filmplast back into her bag, focusing on situating it between two padds she needs to return to the library and the third padd holding the rest of her research she had hoped to show to the Commander. When she's sure she's calmer and less flustered from his rebuke, she looks back up at him and says, "Have a pleasant summer, Commander. And if you think of anyone who might be available for this project, if it's not too much trouble I'd love to know."

He nods, and is already turning back to his padd as she walks out of his door.

Only when she's a half dozen steps down the corridor does she allow herself to close her eyes and let out a long breath. She knows on some level that Gaila's right that if she really can't find a professor to work with her, there's not much she can do about that. But that doesn't temper the burning itch that this project has produced in her, nor does it ease the anxious jump in throat every time she thinks about an unproductive summer. She knows how that will look on her resume, a gaping hole of several months of either no work, or less consequential work even if she can find something so last minute. Other cadets might be content with time off between semesters, but Nyota's not. She came to the Academy to do her best for four years, and to graduate either at the top of her class or as near to it as she is capable of. The idea of something so happenstance as her advisor's wife being transferred to a new assignment makes a knot form in her stomach.

She's so lost in thought that she doesn't hear the chime of her comm until it's rung at least twice and by the time she digs it out of her bag, it's ringing a third time. She flips it open, scanning the automated message sent from the Academy Library that one of the texts she has checked out has been requested. She's not surprised to see that it's the Saiphian cultural reference and dictionary she picked up earlier that week, since it's been in high demand with all the Saiphs who have been coming to Earth ever since the Ras Alhague Treaty was signed, but she is surprised to see the ID of who requested it.

She turns back down the empty hall, retracing her steps even as she digs into her bag for the relevant padd.

"Here," she says, wrapping her knuckles on the Commander's doorframe to announce her presence, not that he couldn't have heard her coming since the building is so silent with so many cadets and officers gone for the summer.

Commander Spock looks down at the padd she lays on his desk, and then up at her from beneath slanted eyebrows.

"I was not aware that you were the cadet in possession of that padd."

"I figured it was rather timely to learn their language. And speaking of timely, take it now so that neither of us has to walk to the library."

"It will still be checked out under your name."

"Don't lose it," she suggests. "Consider it a little extra efficiency in your day, since I hear you're pretty busy this summer."

"You hear I am…" he trails off, a small crease forming between his eyebrows as his head tilts to the side. "You are aware I am involved with other work this summer. Is that what you are referring to?"

"Uh, yes." Her fingers tighten on the strap of her bag and she tries not to wince at her own flippancy. "It's a saying, an expression. I guess I was being a bit… sarcastic."

He pauses for a moment, still just watching her with those dark, piercing eyes. "I see."

"I'm sorry, sir, it was out of line."

"You are distressed because you have not found an advisor for your project," he says and it's not really a question so she doesn't nod.

Instead, she ignores his guess – his correct guess at that- and gestures to the padd.

"If you're requisitioning that to look up the word that the Ambassador kept repeating and which the universal translator didn't have a reference for, it amounts to the Standard definition of 'single', as in someone who isn't involved in a relationship."

His gaze drops to the dictionary so that she can't see his reaction, not that she imagines there would be much of one. He thumbs on the padd and she watches him flick through the chapter she had most recently been reading.

"I'll… leave you to it," she says eventually when he shows no sign of looking up at her again. She backs out of his office once more, the hall as empty and quiet as it was the last time, her footsteps echoing dully as she walks away.

It isn't until she's pushing her dinner around her plate in the mess hall and trying to focus on the conversation Gaila's having with her that she really allows the despondency to settle in.

"This isn't going to work," she says to her salad, stabbing at a tomato that just rolls to the other side of her plate.

Gaila picks up the tomato, takes the fork from Nyota's hand, and spears it on the tines for her.

"There you go."

Nyota grins despite herself, shaking her head at her roommate who is looking back at her with her chin propped on one green hand.

"Thanks."

"Is your entire summer ruined because the Commander's too busy?"

"Yes."

"Ruined all of next year, too?"

"Being a third year cadet will exist in the shadow of not having a published paper," Nyota agrees, wrinkling her nose at her tomato. "All because I couldn't convince Commander Spock to work with me."

"I can't believe you couldn't convince him," Gaila drawls. "A Vulcan who meant what they said the first time they said it. Astonishing. No, wait, _fascinating_."

"Thanks for the support, Gaila. Really," Nyota mutters, laying down her fork and grinding her thumb and forefinger into her eyes until she sees stars.

"You're welcome," Gaila says cheerfully. "And you know what? Life goes on, an old Terran saying, as you very well know. So Doctor Carrick had to move, which is too bad, and you don't get to do one single project while you're at the Academy. It'll be ok."

Nyota sighs again and goes back to rubbing at her eyes.

"It's just… it's huge, you know? If I can get it published, then I'll have that and my grades, and -"

"-There's something as important as your grades? Because really-"

"-It would make my resume really stand out and could get me a posting right away. Even maybe the _Enterprise_, if I can keep my grades high enough. Can you imagine? I'm sure they're only going to take a handful of cadets and if I have the research background to be really strong in understanding sociolinguistics, I could have a real shot at being on that ship for her maiden voyage."

"This won't make or break your career, Ny. It's ok to relax once in a while," Gaila says gently.

"Commander Spock wasn't even interested in hearing about my topic."

"Commander Spock."

"Yeah and you know what he's like, today he was so-"

The flare of pain from Gaila's boot against her shin is nothing compared to the horror of if she had finished that sentence the way she wanted to.

"Sir," she says, looking up at where he's appeared next to their table.

"Please point to the relevant passage."

"Um," she says, looking blankly at the padd he's dropped next to her plate. "Sorry, what?"

"The word you referenced in my office regarding the mistranslation of the universal translator."

"Oh. Right."

It takes her a moment to find the section she's looking for, which the Commander spends just standing there and Gaila spends in abnormal silence, staring up at him.

"That is not the word she was speaking."

"Not it's not," Nyota agrees, fishing her stylus out of her bag and using it to highlight a section of text so that she can keep her hand away from any chance of brushing against his as he scrolls through the page she points to. "But this is about their hive mind and the ways their language has come to depend on their psionic biology."

"That is not relevant."

Nyota bites back her response that if it wasn't relevant she wouldn't have brought it up.

"Actually, sir, if you read anything about their culture, they historically refuse to work with non-telepathic species and even then, they struggle with individuals who aren't in a relationship." She pauses, not exactly wanting to get into the minutia of the Commander's personal life, but then again the Ambassador basically pointed out that neither she, nor him, nor Captain Pike were seeing anyone. "According to one article I read about them, they're notoriously difficult to work with outside of the societal parameters they deem acceptable."

"And by difficult you mean time consuming?" Gaila guesses and Nyota frowns at her, wishing she hadn't shared anything from her visit to Spock's office.

Spock just glances at Gaila and says, "That is accurate."

"That's too bad, sir. Nothing like having a project just not come to fruition." The Commander looks like he's actually trying to determine if there is in fact anything like that when Gaila continues. "So how did we even sign the treaty anyway?"

"The logical deduction is that whoever was in the diplomatic envoy was in a committed romantic relationship."

"Well, isn't that convenient." Gaila taps a finger on the padd and looks over at Nyota with a gleam in her eye that she recognizes all too well as her roommate's rampant, zealous excitement about something. "Hey, Ny, how'd you know all that? I mean, I know you read dictionaries for fun, but isn't that something, Commander? That Cadet Uhura here figured all that out?"

"A well reasoned conclusion," he allows and Gaila grins.

"Good thing Starfleet has her big brain," Gaila says. "Otherwise we'd never know that working with the Saiph envoy would be like a million times easier if you were dating someone, Commander."

"That is not mathematically correct."

"Ah, well, it's summer, sir. Can't be blamed for not being on par with Uhura."

Commander Spock looks like it's not out of the realm of possibility that he would blame her for something like that but instead of saying anything, he just picks up the padd, tucks it under his arm and turns on his heel.

"I like him," Gaila grins, watching his tall form cutting between the half-empty tables in the mess hall.

"I'm pretty sure he just told you that you can't count very well."

Gaila shrugs and Nyota's troubled to see that the manic gleam hasn't quite dissipated from her eyes or her smile.

"So."

"So?"

"So." Gaila pats the table with her hands, practically bouncing. "It's obvious."

"What is?"

"It's logical. It is so incredibly logical. He's not going to even be able to turn you down because of all the logic."

"Gaila…"

"Commander Spock is, what, the smartest professor on campus?"

"Pretty much."

"Unmatched academic background, recently returned from a deployment with Captain Pike, recently promoted to first officer of the _Enterprise_? He, even more than Doctor Carrick, would be the best advisor for your project and also a great professional connection to make?"

"Yes. So?"

"So," Gaila grins. "He needs bunch of dilithium crystals? That's what the Saiphs have, right? The whole point of Starfleet getting involved with them? They have all those dilithium deposits and their refinery technology is far more advanced than ours?"

"I guess so."

"And the Saiphs won't work with him because he's not dating anyone?"

"Yeah, you heard him, it sounds like it's going to take him forever to make progress with them and is going to spend all summer- Oh. Oh, Gaila, no."

"This is going to be great."

"I'm not… you can't be serious."

"I have never been so serious in my entire life," Gaila says in a low, solemn voice that is completely ruined by the way her eyes are shining.

"I am not, I repeat, _not_, going to pretend to date Commander Spock so that he can get his dilithium crystals and I can get help on my paper."

"The best part is that you are so obsessed with this project that you totally are."

"He won't even- this isn't… this is insane, Gaila."

"I cannot wait for this to happen. I'm pretty sure I've never been this excited," Gaila grins, practically squirming in her seat and her hands fluttering over the table.

"Well, enjoy the thought of it as a hypothetical, never going to come to fruition, completely theoretical scheme you cooked up."

"Published journal article," Gaila squeals. "Meeting all of the senior officers of the _Enterprise_."

"They'll think I'm, oh my _God_, Gaila, they'll think I'm sleeping with the guy to get a position on the ship! Commander Spock of all people!"

"Oh, please, it's the 2250s. Nobody thinks that anymore, or I would never have approached Captain-"

"Gaila!"

"Mmm, she was good. And look, Ny, it's a perfect opportunity to show off that big old brain of yours and impress the Commander with all your skills."

Nyota drags her hand across her face, slowly shaking her head.

"Gaila, I love you very much, and you are a wonderful roommate except for all the ways in which you're not, but just… just let this go. I am never, ever going to walk into Commander Spock's office and suggest that we pretend to date for an entire summer. Even the thought of it, I just…" Nyota shudders and shakes her head again with a grimace. "Not happening."

"Ok," Gaila said, still grinning.

"Stop smiling. I'll come up with another plan."

"Sure you will."

"Stop it, seriously. I'll forget about the project, I'll work on the _Farragut_ for the rest of my career coding universal translators and updating dictionaries."

"Uh huh."

"I have professional mores, Gaila. Standards of conduct that this… just, no. No."

"Mmhmm."

"I mean, he's not… I couldn't even spend that much time with him, nor would I want to. He's so… he's just really… "

"If you say anything about him that suggests you are holding him to inappropriate interspecies cultural relativism standards, such as that his Vulcan demeanor comes across as rude, or that the fact that he's Vulcan is what's holding you back, so help me Nyota, I will bring back that guy with all the tentacles and do it in your bed."

"Do you look this stuff up in my textbooks? And I was not going to say that," Nyota says primly. "And, also, the tentacles left slime all over our room, which you barely cleaned up."

"I did too!"

Nyota goes back to her salad and ignores the grins Gaila shoots her, but at least Gaila shuts up about her idea and starts talking about the benefits of multiple appendages during sex which, while not Nyota's favorite topic does detour the conversation from Gaila's plan which Nyota is just not going to give a second thought to. At all. Ever.


	2. Chapter 2

_Guys, the response to this has made me all warm and fuzzy inside. I'm so happy that you're all as excited about reading this as I was when I was writing it. It's obviously not a very S/U-ish trope, since they are very serious professionals who would never engage in a fake relationship (bwahahah) and that made it even more fun to try to figure out. So enjoy the long, winding path that these dorks took this story on (emphasis on long, and a second emphasis on winding) and keep letting me know if you like it! Reviews are like watching Spock, in his adorkably attractive puffy jacket, say 'precisely the opposite' as Nyota smiles._

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><p>She hopes Commander Spock's closed office door is a sign he's not there because there is no way she's doing this in the first place and not being able to find him will only help ensure that.<p>

So she doesn't knock and doesn't take a step forward to activate the proximity sensor, and is therefore just standing in the hallway when even, measured footsteps turn the corner and echo down the corridor towards her.

"Cadet Uhura?" the Commander asks as he approaches her. He has a mug of tea in his hand and a padd tucked under his arm and looks so crisp and professional in his pressed uniform that she feels herself flush at the thought of what brings her there.

"I was hoping to speak with you," she leads with, since it's innocuous enough and he might as well hear her out before he calls Starfleet medical for a full psychological work up on her. Which, frankly, might be warranted.

"I expect this is not another inquiry into my availability to serve as your advisor," he says as he opens his door.

She waits until he's set down his mug and his padd on his desk, hoping that if he gets settled in enough, he won't bolt as soon as she starts talking.

"Actually it is, sir, but please let me explain."

He does, and she doesn't know if the complete blankness of his expression is better or worse than a raised eyebrow, or even him immediately showing her to the door.

"I'm one of the top cadets in my year, I excelled in your class, and I have a promising future in Starfleet. Frankly, sir, not only is it logical to contribute to the strength of the organization by cultivating talent, but you'd be lucky to work with me," she finishes. She's reaching, she thinks. Or maybe not, since a human might be turned off by a list of qualifications but Vulcans are so different when it comes to these things. "What I'm proposing would of course be strictly professional and give us the time to work on my paper simply in more public, social settings. It would be mutually beneficial, allowing me to complete my project, while also increasing the efficiency of your negotiations with the Saiph envoy."

In the silence that follows, she waits with her hands folded in her lap and her heart pounding.

He is so incredibly still that she seriously considers asking if he heard her when he finally speaks.

"I assume this is not a form of Terran humor I am unfamiliar with," he says, his tone so dry she almost assumes he's joking himself.

All her tension leaves her in a breathy laugh, which she immediately staunches since she's not sure if he would understand she's not laughing at him.

"No, sir, it's not. I understand that it sounds ludicrous and believe me, I also think it's a bit crazy, but I figured it couldn't hurt to ask."

That last part is untrue since it certainly can hurt to have him think she's insane. He is the first officer of the _Enterprise_, and is one of the most distinguished professors in her department, and is not the kind of officer she wants thinking she's deranged, but the thought of getting an advisor's signature on her research proposal keeps her firmly in her chair and meeting his gaze as steadily as she can, no matter how flushed her cheeks feel.

She waits for him to speak, imagining him asking her to never bring this up again, imagining an official reprimand, imagining a silence that culminates in a stern dismissal and her showing herself out and never, ever being able to look at him again. It'll make a good story, she thinks as she meets his flinty gaze, something to tell at a bar in a couple years after she's worked her way back up from janitorial detail, ordered by one scandalized Commander Spock. Or, maybe a story she'll tell from her posting on the Outer Rim, where she'll transfer to immediately and hope the _Enterprise_ never does a milk run to. She'll live out the rest of her career as the officer who never made it above Ensign after propositioning a Vulcan for a fake relationship.

She's in the middle of planning an elaborate, intricate revenge for Gaila when he finally speaks, and it's so sudden, and his words so unexpected that she considers asking if he'll repeat himself before deciding she just wants this conversation to end as soon as possible.

"I will consider it."

"Excellent. Thank you," she says and makes herself resist the urge to bolt long enough to leave him with the newest draft of her research outline. She steps out of his office before he can come to his senses, the door closing behind her and only then does she take a shaky breath.

Her heart pounds all the way down the hall, down six flights of stairs since she's too jumpy to stand in a turbolift, and down the steps to the quad, which she walks briskly across, trying to get the excess energy out of her body.

She finds Gaila stretched out on her back in a sunny patch of grass outside of the computer sciences building and sits cross legged next to her, burying her face in her hands.

"He didn't kick me out, or call Starfleet security to have me arrested, or say no immediately, so I think it went pretty well." She presses her fingers into her forehead and squeezes her eyes shut behind her palms. "I can't believe I did that!"

"Of course he didn't," Gaila says. "He probably wants to get into your-"

"-Don't say it-"

"-Brain. He's a touch-telepath. Literally into your brain."

"He does not. He wants his dilithium crystals and I want a research advisor."

"I can't believe you went for it either, Ny," Gaila says and when Nyota looks over, she's grinning. "You're nuts. Off the wall. Nuts. Wall. Walnuts? Is that why they're called that?"

"No."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure that I'm never, ever going to be able to look Commander Spock in the eye again."

"You're fine. You're braver than I thought. And kind of unhealthily obsessed with this paper if you actually took my suggestion. Nyota Uhura, asking a Vulcan out on a date."

"I didn't ask him on a date," Nyota corrects. "There will be zero dates. I asked him if he wanted to review my progress on my project in a public setting."

"Semantics. Oh, you guys can talk about semantics! I bet you'll both love that."

"This was a horrible idea. I blame you, you know. I probably broke more than a dozen cultural taboos, horribly offended him-"

"-Got him thinking about spending time with that hot cadet who was in his class-"

"-Suggested he do something so incredibly ridiculous-"

"-Gave him a chance to get to know the woman half of Starfleet, hell, half of the Federation, wants to date-"

"-And potentially compromise the professional integrity of-"

"-Set up a situation where he has you all to yourself-"

"-God, Gaila, is it going to be like this with you all summer?"

"Only if he says yes. Oh, I hope he does!" Gaila squeals, excitedly drumming her heels on the ground. "He's cute, too, you lucky thing."

"Even if he does agree, and he won't since he's not crazy like you are, an arrangement like this is really going to cut into my productivity, which is a whole other reason I never should have asked him to do this with me," Nyota sighs, pulling out her padd and calling up her notes. "What with meeting up with him and we'll probably have to actually eat, and traveling to and from whatever we decide to do. I wonder if we can just get some witnesses to come meet us in the library."

"I mean, I've seen him at the gym a few times, and Vulcan martial arts, Ny? Yum."

"Or maybe he'd be ok with just meeting for coffee, then we can skip meals."

"He was wearing this gray t-shirt, you know, the departmental ones we all get? S'Fraelae told me the science department ones were replicated wrong and are too tight and I never really thought about it, but Ny-"

"I think we could work in the student union, too, that's pretty public and the net access is as fast as it is in the library. And Vulcans don't sleep a lot, which is good, so I won't be worried about keeping him up late if I have to meet with him after dinner."

"He was in the weight room with Captain Pike one day, and let me tell you-"

"Do you want to have sex with him?" Nyota asks, flicking her padd off and pinning her roommate with a stare. Gaila, for her part, pauses mid-sentence with her mouth hanging open, before she shuts it with an audible click.

"Pike? Sure. Would bang, definitely."

"No, the Commander. I just need to know ahead of time. If this actually works out – which is totally insane to think it would –are you going to be taking up any part of his day?"

"I- What? No, no, no. Vulcans and Orions are biologically incompatible. It'd be terrible. He can't use his telepathy with me, I can't use my pheromones with him. It'd be, oh it'd be awful. Like two humans having sex, complete sensory blindness." Gaila shudders. "Still, an officer like the Commander. That uniform? Who can help but look?"

"I need his answer by the end of this week," Nyota murmurs to herself. "I don't think I told him that and I should have, because this morning I found out that there's still an opening to work on neurolinguistic research with Lieutenant Commander Hyden. I could apply for it if this falls through, even though that's not really ideal."

"You can," Gaila mutters.

"I can what? Apply for that position?"

"Never mind," Gaila sighs.

…

In the next few days, she sees Commander Spock twice, both times the Saiph Ambassador gliding beside him, her robes flowing around her, and her head shaking in a gesture she must have picked up since coming to Earth.

The first time, he glances over at her and she busies herself with her padd, all the while telling herself that she's a Starfleet cadet who will soon be an officer and if she can't manage to actually make eye contact with him, she may want to rethink a career choice that lists 'bravery' and 'perseverance in the face of obstacles' among its chief qualifications. Still, he doesn't approach her either and some part of her hopes they can just both ignore any conversations that may or may not have taken place in his office and may or may not have covered the topic of a fake relationship.

A bigger part of her wants to graduate with Lieutenant stripes and a top posting, so the second time she sees him, she pushes back the temptation to run for the hills, sets her jaw, and gives him a polite nod when he and the Ambassador walk past her.

The third time she sees him and the Ambassador, it's in the mess hall and Nyota is interrupted in her perusal of which protein bar to take back with her to the library.

"Cadet?" she hears from behind her, and she turns to find Captain Pike.

"Uhura," she supplies.

"Cadet Uhura, you speak Saiph, correct?"

"Saphian," she corrects before she can stop herself. "Yes, sir, some."

"Translate for the Ambassador," he orders and she nods, dropping the bar she had picked up and following the captain over to where the Ambassador is standing with Commander Spock.

Her heart starts banging around in her chest when the Commander looks at her and she feels her palms begin to sweat, but with the Captain and Ambassador staring at her there's really no time to think about the pervasive awkwardness or how badly she wishes she had never listened to Gaila. So instead of letting the embarrassment of the memory of her conversation with the Commander overwhelm her, she firmly pushes that aside, takes a deep breath and focuses on what the Amabassador is saying.

It takes her a while to understand the problem since the Ambassador is speaking quickly and isn't interested in slowing down so that Nyota can understand her. She wonders, belatedly, where her attendants are, or some of her other colleagues that she's seen around the Academy in the last few days, but none of them are here in the mess hall to supply an extra, properly encoded universal translator since the Ambassador's seems to be broken.

"She- well, I think the issue is that Saiphs are carnivores," Nyota explains to the Captain and Commander. "She doesn't seem to have a word for vegetables, dairy, or grains, and she keeps asking for food, so…"

She trails off, since it's completely possible that she's misread the situation. Gaila eats a diet of algae and desserts that alternatively makes Nyota's stomach turn and mouth water, and Ghelfians photosynthesize for their nutritional needs, and Sanghvis don't eat at all, but Nyota's pretty sure she's on the right track. She gestures towards the display of Andorian food and when the Ambassador's sharp, dark eyes track her movements towards the array of steaks and kebobs, she offers to take her there.

"Uncooked," she says, since she can't remember the word for 'raw.'

The Ambassador nods and points to a particularly bloody piece of meat and Nyota tries not to grimace, or take it personally, when she seems to be expected to serve it to her.

"Knife? Fork? And would you perhaps like to sit?" she asks but the Ambassador gives her a blank stare, takes the plate from her without a word, and remains where she is as she begins ripping off large chunks of meat with surprising strength.

"Translators on the fritz," Pike sighs, appearing behind Nyota with the Commander and she turns to look at them, rather than the source of wet, smacking sounds as the Ambassador has her lunch.

"I can go get you another one from the linguistics building, sir."

"They are being recalibrated. A summer project by the acoustical engineering department," Commander Spock says.

She looks up at him and then quickly away, feeling her cheeks warm and wishes for some of his Vulcan stoicism and emotional control. He, at least, seems unperturbed by their earlier conversation and she focuses on trying to emulate his calm.

"Well," Pike says, his eyes trained on the Ambassador before he swallows and glances away. "Guess our plan to bring her to a more crowded place in order to prove we aren't completely socially isolated backfired. Not all of us eat rabbit food, Mr. Spock."

"On the contrary, Captain, my diet-"

"Rabbit food," Pike says again and to Nyota's surprise, smacks the Commander on the shoulder. There's a list of species you just don't touch and Vulcans are at the top of it, but the Commander doesn't even react to the gesture. "Eat up. I need those dilithium crystals. You need them, too, if we're ever going to take our girl out for a spin."

Pike is gone in a quick staccato of boot falls, leaving her alone with the Commander, who is carefully not watching the Ambassador eat.

"I do not understand the predilection for assigning a female gender to a starship," he says quietly and she glances up at him, surprised he's spoken to her, and in such a soft tone at that.

Tell him to forget the whole thing, she tells herself.

Tell him you need his answer, she thinks wildly.

"Cadet?" he asks and she nearly jumps, realizing she's just been staring at him.

He's a Commander, has one of the most renowned records of an Academy graduate, and apparently is buddies, of sorts, with Captain Pike. He's intimidating on the best of days and downright terrifying on others, and her mind is full of his reaction when cadets clearly hadn't done their homework, or a particularly low scoring quiz he had given them, so she just wants to slink away into a dark corner of the Academy somewhere where she never has to see him again.

But instead of excusing herself and crawling under a rock, or explaining to him that her insane Orion roommate planted this idea of them pretending to date in her head and she's already considering homicide as a suitable course of action, she hears herself say, "Well, all the old sailors on Earth were single men, sir. I'd say, considering the circumstances, it's actually quite fitting."

She looks away, mortified, but can't bring herself to continue to watch the way the Ambassador is eating, so she ends up looking back at him, her cheeks burning and catches the tiny twitch of his eyebrow.

"Apparently."

"I'm going to…" she points to the exit of the mess hall before forcing herself to calm down. "If you don't need further assistance, Commander, I am otherwise currently occupied."

He just nods and she leaves him with the Ambassador licking at her fingers and staring back and forth between them.

…

"I wonder why he's single," Gaila muses, squeezing her curls in a towel. "Don't Vulcans mate for life?"

"Yes, as young children, I always thought. And actually, they have all these really interesting etymologies in their languages surrounding that, since it's so rare for them to date as adults. The word for-"

"Think she died?"

"What? His bondmate? No. Maybe. I don't know." Nyota pauses and looks up, only to get an eyeful of naked Orion. She just shakes her head, too used to Gaila at this point to care much.

"That'd be sad if she's dead," Gaila says, stepping into her underwear. "And then to have that thrown in his face by the Ambassador. And you with your whole 'guess everyone in this room is single' thing you have going on. Dating. Ugh."

"It would be sad," Nyota agrees, dropping her gaze back to her padd while Gaila flits around the room in just her panties. "Maybe they just broke up, although, I don't know. Vulcan doesn't really have a word for-"

"Who do you think he's had sex with?"

"What? _What_?"

"If he's single. Wait, are Vulcans even attracted to any other species other than their own?"

"I don't want to even think about it, Gaila. That's his business."

"I wonder if he was single when he was a cadet," Gaila muses, sitting down to pull socks on. "Most cadets are so much fun, you know, showing up at the Academy having hardly tried sex with other species. It's like everyone gets four years to spread oatmeal-"

"-Um-"

"-And try everyone else out." Gaila wrinkles her nose and frowns at Nyota, who just glowers back, knowing what's coming. "Except you."

"I do fine, thank you for your concern."

"I am concerned," Gaila says, shaking her bra at Nyota before pulling it on. "Very concerned. It's not good for you to go for so long-"

"Gaila…"

"Just saying," Gaila shrugs. "Don't spend all summer with Commander Hot, sorry, Spock, and come crying to me if you don't get laid until you're the Rear Admiral of Starfleet Intelligence."

Nyota grins. "You think I'll really make Rear Admiral?"

"Yes, and then you'll immediately drop dead of stress, or be committed from having a nervous breakdown due to never relaxing. Terrible career planning, Ny."

"I don't know why I bother with you," Nyota mutters, and then groans when Gaila, still nearly naked, nearly jumps on top of her to hug her so tight she can barely breathe.

"You need me."

"I need you to get off of me."

"Vice Admiral Nyota 'I'm Sexually Stimulated By A Long Afternoon of Research' Uhura."

"You are ridiculous."

"Fleet Admiral Nyota 'I Do My Research In Bed And It's Long And Hard' Uhura."

"I can't breathe. You realize this, right?"

"Federation President Nyota 'I Fantasize About Recently Published Academic Journal Articles' Uhura."

Nyota sighs under Gaila weight. "Are you done?"

"Just getting started. The only thing that can stop me is a cocktail. With you."

Nyota sighs again and glances at her padds on her desk even as Gaila squeezes her tighter. "One, and then I'm going back to the library."

Gaila squeals and jumps up.

"Progress!"

…

The next time she sees him, the Ambassador is pacing in front of Cochrane Hall and the Commander is just watching her from a distance, his hands clasped behind his back.

She considers turning and walking the other way, but by the time she's decided to he's glanced over at her and she can't very well pretend she wasn't about to walk down the path he's standing on now that he's seen her.

"Sir," she says as she approaches him. She wants to keep walking, wanting to leave him alone until she hears back from him since it's all too weird for her, but instead of a polite nod and telling him to have a good afternoon, she finds herself stopping next to him and voicing the concerns she had earlier that Gaila had so completely ignored. "I didn't say this before, and I should have, but I just hope you didn't find my suggestion inappropriate, nor that you should be reticent at all to turn me down."

His eyebrow quirks slightly, easing his normally stern expression. "I believe that is what the higher ranking officer is supposed to say under such circumstances, Cadet."

"I well… yes." She had looked up fraternization regulations sometime between telling Gaila she was completely nuts and finding herself actually considering her suggestion, and it is true that superior officers are supposed to mitigate any occurrences of favoritism, and certainly avoid coercion, but beyond that she found that Starfleet is permissive of personal relationships. "Still," she tells him with a small shrug. "I'm sure the suggestion was sudden and likely unexpected."

"Do not trouble yourself."

"Ok, good, as long as I didn't cause any offense."

They watch the Ambassador pace for a long moment and she's about to say goodbye, a certain weight lifted from her now that they've spoken again and he's as unflappable about this as anything else, when he speaks.

"I admit I am uncomfortable with a scenario that is so firmly rooted in deceit."

She looks up at him, her mind whirring through everything she knows about Vulcan culture before kicking herself for not thinking of that sooner. "Of course. I hadn't really thought about that, and it's an uncomfortable situation to begin with. But I wouldn't want either of us to lie."

"I am uncertain as to how this arrangement would preclude that."

"Well…" She drags her teeth over her lower lip, considering. "If you think about it, I asked you in your office the other day if you wanted to spend time with me socially."

His eyes narrow slightly as he looks at her. "Time spent with you in public working on your paper."

She smiles despite herself. "That is just about how I spend all my time, Commander. Trust me, it's ruined a number of actual relationships, and I can assure you that it is in no way uncharacteristic for me to spend the majority of my day on school work." She holds open her bag to show him a half dozen padds she just checked out of the library. "See? Proof."

"You are continuing your research without a confirmed advisor?" he asks and she doesn't think she's imagining the note of incredulity that colors his voice.

"I'm interested in the topic," she shrugs. "And I'm going to receive a top posting upon graduation, hopefully on the _Enterprise_, and I have two years left at the Academy to secure that."

"If you are so adamant on a competitive posting-"

"No," she interrupts before realizing she just spoke over a commission officer. "Sorry, sorry, sir. But I'm not, I- I work for what I earn, sir."

His slightly open mouth and the crease between his brows suggests he doesn't quite follow her outburst, but then his expression smooths and he looks at her with those dark, searching eyes and she presses her lips together, rocking back on her heels slightly.

"I did not intend to presume…" he starts and then doesn't seem to quite know how to finish. He pauses for a long moment and she waits, her fingers tight on the strap of her bag, before he finally says, "Favoritism is illogical."

"I know."

"Indeed."

"That's not why… that's really, really not why I suggested this," she says quickly, taking a step towards him before she can stop himself. "Frankly if you were human, I wouldn't have even- Consider your heritage a certain advantage in this case."

He's quiet again, just watching her as the Ambassador paces, occasionally pausing to look at them before she resumes walking back and forth, her robes flapping in the wind.

"It is not an advantage if I refuse to partake in this arrangement," he says shortly.

"I won't ask you to lie, not if you don't show me any favoritism," she promises. "Rather, just… let everyone decide their own truth."

"Lying through omission is still lying."

She shrugs, trying to brush off his brusque tone and looks over at the Ambassador, thankful Saiph's don't have good hearing.

"Look, it's just as true that I enjoyed your class, found your office hours intriguing and our conversation stimulating, and hoped to have further similarly interesting conversations in the future, outside of a strictly professional setting. If I tell anyone the that, they'll think I asked you out. Which I have now, twice technically." She lets herself grin. "And I can honestly tell them that you're a tough catch sir, and they won't even know I'm talking about as a research advisor."

He does that thing again where he just watches her for a long moment and she tries not to shift under his gaze. He finally glances over at the Ambassador, who has sat down on a bench and is staring right back at him.

"I will continue to consider your suggestion," the Commander finally says.

"Good luck with her in the meantime," she replies and she thinks he pauses for a moment before he walks back over to his companion.

…

"Wow, she hates him," Gaila says, her chin propped on her hand, and her elbow on the table they're sitting at outside of the mess hall. Nyota glances up long enough to watch the Ambassador striding across the quad with Commander Spock by her side, the Commander saying something and the Ambassador studiously ignoring him. "Why are they making him work with her again? Can't they find someone else that she would actually talk to?"

"The _Enterprise_ needs those special dilithium crystals, or something." Nyota shrugs and scrolls to the next page of the journal article she's reading. "Don't you know all about this? Engines and stuff?"

"Yeah, the active multiphasic dissipation engine design they're installing on the _Enterprise_," Gaila says dreamily. "It's brand new warp technology they chose so that the ship's range is farther than any other in the fleet. I read all about it. I mean, not like you read with your nose stuck in a padd for hours at a time. I read it and then moved on with my life. To see friends, to go for a walk, to watch a holovid. Absorbed knowledge then had fun. You should try it."

"Hmmm."

"But I want to know why _him_, why not, who is it, Chief Engineer Olson? Pike could assign him to this and the Commander could be less stoically, logically frustrated all summer. Oooh, and then you could pretend to date Olson! He's cute, too."

"I don't know," Nyota murmurs, highlighting a paragraph and making a note to cross reference it with an article she had read that morning. "But I'm guessing it's part of his job as first officer, getting all these various things coordinated for the ship. Anyway, Pike specifically told him to. And, I would never pretend to date Olson. At least the Commander is a professional. Olson's like an overgrown puppy."

"I can't wait for the Commander to say yes to you."

"I'm not sure he will," Nyota sighs, glancing up at him and the Ambassador again. "He's pretty uncomfortable with the idea. I am too, you know, I should never have let you talk me into this."

"Talk you into something? Me? If I had that power, we'd be at the beach with fruity drinks with those little rain shields in them."

"Umbrellas."

"Sure, whatever." Gaila sighs heavily, her focus still on Commander Spock and the Ambassador. "I still can't believe you asked him."

"_You_ suggested it, and I still think I'm insane for having listened to you. You're rubbing

off on me after so many semesters rooming together."

"I bet he wants to rub off on-"

"Gaila!"

"What? Men are all 'when's your roommate coming out, Gaila?' 'how's Uhura, Gaila, is she here tonight?' 'can I get Uhura's number, Gaila? I have a question about dimorphic phonologies.' It's ridiculous, Ny!"

"Well maybe they have questions!"

"Questions about getting in your pants."

"He's… he's not… he was my professor, Gaila! And would be my advisor. It wouldn't even be like that."

"You could use some rubbing-"

"Oh stop. Please."

Gaila nods slowly, her lips pursed as she continues to watch Commander Spock.

"He's hot. Those ears, I could just-"

"Look, I wouldn't ever suggest this whole… thing with him if I thought there was an actual realistic scenario that he and I would ever… that we would... It's just… No. Not him, not me, not the two of us. Let's focus on my paper, Gaila. Stop with any other ideas, please, it's weird enough to even think about spending time with the guy outside of his office or classroom."

"Ok, you think about your paper, I'll think about-."

"I hate you," Nyota sighs.

"I thought you loved me."

"I do. It's confusing, trust me."

"Humans," Gaila mutters.

…

She has her application for Hyden half filled out when her comm rings.

"Uhura," she says, flipping it open.

"I accept your proposal, Cadet Uhura."

"What?"

"This is Commander Spock."

"I- yes. Of course. You, um, accept?"

"Yes."

His statement is followed by a long, empty silence and she desperately casts about for what to say.

"Great," she finally gets out.

"How, exactly, do you propose we begin?" he asks in that brisk, succinct tone she's heard dozens of times in his classroom and she realizes she doesn't actually know. She looks over at Gaila's traitorously empty side of the room, then back at her comm.

"I need to show you my research proposal," she starts, because that's simple enough. "What I had earlier was a preliminary draft and I've expanded it since then."

"Please send it to me at your earliest convenience."

"Of course."

She pauses, still studying the black and gold casing of her comm, so innocuous a moment ago and now it's bringing her Commander Spock's voice. And she has to… go out with him. In public. For real. For fake, for real, which makes her head swim.

"Well, let's start with a cup of tea and go from there," she suggests because the idea of actually doing this seems a bit daunting now that it's not theoretical. But her padd with her notes for her paper is in her bag and she focuses on that, not on the idea of being in social situation with Commander Spock of all people. For the entire summer.

"Very well," he says and as soon as they've made arrangements, he hangs up without saying goodbye, which leaves her sitting on her bunk, staring down at her comm and wondering exactly what she just got herself into.

And, she thinks grimly, looking over at her closet, what exactly to wear on a fake, first date with a Vulcan.


	3. Chapter 3

She supposes that she should have known he would wear his uniform. Not that she exactly got dressed up, but there's pretending to have a relationship and then there's not even trying, and she at least put on a nice skirt for their date.

Ostensible date, she reminds herself, not that it's hard to forget that with the completely bland expression he has as he approaches or the weight of her padds of research to review with him in her bag.

Still, she has to push down the way her stomach flutters with the nerves she's carried all day, hoping this entire thing wasn't a completely terrible idea.

"Cadet," he says with a polite nod.

"Sir." She hitches her bag up on her shoulder and swallows. The quiet café she chose suddenly seems formidable and her mouth is dry and she can't really think of what to say to him now that he's standing there in front of her. "Are you-"

"I had thought-"

They both pause and she studies the science insignia on his uniform before deciding she doesn't really want to be staring at his chest, so she nods her chin towards the door.

"So let's…"

She realizes, after she's stepped past him into the café and left as much room between their bodies as possible, that she in no way is prepared for this. The menu seems daunting, no matter that she and Gaila have been there a half dozen times, and most of the tables are full. The only empty ones are tucked into quiet corners that seem way too dim and intimate and she thinks wildly that a cup of tea is in no way an innocuous way to start off this arrangement.

"You got my outline," she says for something to break the silence as they wait in line.

"I did."

She waits for him to make some sort of comment on it, but he just studies the pastry case. He only glances over at her when her comm buzzes and she reaches into her bag to turn it off, ignoring the incessant texts from Gaila.

"One of my friends," she explains.

"Ah."

She brushes her hair back over her shoulder for something to do with her hands.

"I actually was going to tell you that she kind of knows about… all this. I haven't told anyone else, nor do I plan to, but …" Nyota trails off. As much as she wants to pin the blame for this horrendously awkward non-date on Gaila, it's hardly fair. "Anyway, I just thought you should know that she, at least, knows."

He nods and they lapse back into silence. Nyota watches the customers in front of them in line dwindle one by one, each stepping away with a steaming coffee or tea or plate of pastry in a way that makes her feel like they're each abandoning her in turn, as if they would just stay in line, she could continue to put off any more interaction with the Commander.

All too soon the last customer in front of her gets his credit chip back, pockets it, and moves away, leaving her with the barista and no idea what she wants because she's been too busy thinking about how incredibly uneasy she feels standing there next to her former Advanced Morphology professor, on a date that is not a date.

"Uh," she stalls, looking up at the projection of an antique chalkboard. "Chai?"

"Real milk or replicated?"

"Replicated," she answers since it's cheaper. She digs into her bag for her wallet, which is of course buried beneath her a sweater, her padds of research, and a filmplast she grabbed from the gym with the summer schedule on it.

In the time it takes her to pull it out, Spock has placed his own order.

"Together?" the barista asks, his voice bright as he smiles at them.

"No," she says quickly.

She curls her hands around her cup and studiously watches the steam curl and twist while he pays for his own drink. She resists the urge to stare around the café to see if there's anyone there that she knows. She's not certain that if she did see a friend or acquaintance she wouldn't just mumble an apology to the Commander and bolt out the door, drag Gaila to the bar despite the fact that it's mid morning, and attempt to use Cardassian Sunrises to scrub the memory of ever having done this from her brain.

"So you read my proposal," she starts once they've thankfully left the counter and chosen a table. Work, at least, is something she's good at and can talk about with ease, no matter how weird it is to be sitting at a tiny table with him stiff and formal in the chair across from her.

She stirs her tea twice, and then a third time before makes herself put her spoon down. All around them at other tables people are happily holding conversations or deep in a book. The clatter and chatter of the café seems at stark odds with their own table, and the noise makes her head spin.

"Naturally."

She waits for him to say something else and when he doesn't and just looks at her evenly, she has to resist the urge to fidget.

"Do you have any feedback?" she finally asks into the silence that stretches between them.

"I sent you my comments."

"Oh, I-" she starts, struggling for a reply in the face of his cool, succinct response. "I haven't checked my message queue since early this morning."

"That is apparent."

She presses her lips together and nods, trying to fight the heat racing to her cheeks. She hadn't checked her messages because she'd been out running, trying to burn off excess nerves. Afterwards, she had taken a long shower with the sonics turned up so high they made her skin prick. She had stayed in there a long time so as to delay the inevitability of dressing and leaving her dorm to go meet him.

She wishes now that she had spent the time checking her email again or at least pursuing her notes once more, no matter how sure she had been that she hadn't needed to.

She busies herself pulling out her padd and calling up her inbox and sure enough, there's a message from him.

"Sorry, sir," she says, making herself articulate the words even though she wants to mumble them. "I'll just read this real quick."

"I will wait."

And wait he does, perfectly still and unmoving. She imagines that she can feel his gaze burning into the top of her head while she frantically scans the comments he's sent her. It makes her brain fuzzy and jumpy so that she's unable to focus on the words in front of her. Laughter from across the room doesn't help, nor does the group that sits down at a table next to them, loudly and good naturedly arguing about the latest Parrises Squares match against Mars. Once, she looks up and he's just watching her, and when she goes back to reading she has to take a breath and then another one to calm the frantic buzzing of her thoughts that's preventing her from absorbing the words.

"Sorry," she says again, finally, setting the padd down and hoping that she's captured at least the general meaning of what he wrote. "I'll check my messages right before we meet next time."

"That would be wise," he says, his fingers flicking over his own padd as he writes down a handful of citations.

"Do you, uh, have anything about this you'd like to discuss now?"

"My schedule precludes an extended discussion," he answers and she flushes again, wishing she had come having read his notes if he has so little time. "Please review these sources by our next meeting."

There's six of them and four of them are novel length texts.

"Sure." She pulls her upper lip between her teeth as she studies the list he made. "When would you like that to be, sir?"

"Is this amount of work a problem?"

"No, not at all," she answers quickly, steeling herself for as many sleepless nights as she typically endures during the height of the semester. "Just trying to get an idea of how often we'll be seeing each other."

"What is typical in this arrangement?"

"I have no idea," she says, fiddling with her stylus before she makes herself put it down and keep her hands as still as his are. "If we were actually seeing each other? Often."

"'Often' is not a specific answer."

"Every day, every few days," she amends. "However much you would want to see someone you enjoyed spending time with." He just looks at her stonily, his expression as severe as ever and she winces. "Not an adequate answer?"

"No."

She takes a deep breath and lets it out.

"It'll take me five days, maybe a week to finish this amount of reading," she tells him. That's pushing it, even if she does nothing else.

"You are not certain as to which?"

"I… no. I can't just guess based on the titles and page numbers."

He looks down at the citations and she swears he somehow frowns without his expression actually changing.

"I see."

"I-I'll do it in five days."

"I will see you then," he replies, already standing and gathering his padd.

"Goodbye, sir, thank you for your time," she says, calling up the first text as he leaves the café.

When she gets back to her dorm after several hours spent bent over her reading, Gaila throws their door open before Nyota can even raise her hand to the sensor to open it.

"I've been waiting for you," she breathes.

"You are beyond creepy."

"How was it? Tell me everything. You wore that? I wish I was here this morning. What did he wear? Where'd you go? What'd you get? What'd you talk about?"

"My paper," Nyota answers, letting her bag fall onto the foot of her bed and sitting to unzip her boots. "Other relevant sources that the Commander thought I should read. And by that I mean half of the Academy library."

"Oh no," Gaila groans. "All you did was talk about work? That is terrible."

"It was pretty terrible. Really terrible, actually. And yes, of course that's all we talked about. Or, rather, we talked about how I should have checked my messages the moment he sent me something, unbeknownst to me. And he was kind of … short."

"But he's so tall."

"No, I mean abrupt. Almost rude? But he did give me this research on-"

"-Research? Come on, Nyota, you two-"

"-These dialects in Cardassian that really highlight the ways in which-"

"-But this was supposed to be-"

"-Societies with really strict social hierarchies-"

"-Exciting-"

"-End up with these words that are mirrored in the various dialects-"

"-Dramatic-"

"-And their meanings change as you consider how the words are used in these really different walks of life-"

"-Thrilling-"

"-Which really fits with what I'm writing about, except he gave me so much to read that-I-"

"-Salacious!"

"Salacious, Gaila? He's Vulcan, please."

"This is the most boring fake relationship I've ever heard about," Gaila says grumpily, dropping onto her bed and crossing her arms. "This was supposed to be more fun for me."

"Sorry," Nyota says, shaking her head at the frown on her roommate's face.

"You should be."

When she's finally done with the papers he assigned her, she meets the Commander for breakfast in the mess hall. When he gets there, he sets down a bowl of fruit and plomeek soup and pulls her padd towards him without greeting her.

"In the future it would be convenient if you sent me your notes ahead of our meetings."

"Oh. Sure, sorry, sir."

She pokes at her oatmeal and watches him while he scrolls through her padd.

"I assume you read Herschelii's article?" he finally asks.

"Of course."

"And you understood it?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

"I am."

"The author's secondary thesis is not referenced in your notes," he says, sliding the padd back towards her.

"It wasn't particularly relevant." His eyebrows rise and she feels her mouth tighten. She drops her hands to her lap and smooths her skirt, forcing herself to take a deep breath. "I didn't spend the time taking notes on it as it only tangentially relates to my topic and it didn't seem like an efficient use of time."

"Perhaps your topic could be broadened."

"Perhaps," she makes herself agree. "I hadn't considered it."

"Do so. I will expect a revised outline from you as soon as possible," he says, rising from the table with his half empty tray of food, balancing it on one hand while he pulls out his comm. He walks away, already making a call on it while she just stares after him.

"Um, bye," she says to his retreating form, blinking at his back. "Sir."

He doesn't turn around to respond to the farewell and she watches him walk out of the mess hall with that quick, even gait of his before sighing, scrubbing a hand over her face, and turning back to her notes.

"It was fine," she tells Gaila that night, when her roommate plies her for details. "If by fine I mean that I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm an idiot and that he also hasn't absorbed any type of Terran manners while he's been on Earth."

"A Vulcan? Being abrupt?" Gaila covers her open mouth with her hand. "No."

"Yeah, I just… well, whatever. I guess I didn't sign up for social niceties when I suggested this whole thing." She sets her bag down and pulls out her padd. "An advisor with different cultural norms than mine is better than no advisor, right?"

"Not better for me. You with no advisor would mean you at the-"

"Don't say bar."

"Bar."

"You're like a broken record, Gaila," Nyota says, then shakes her head and sits down on her bed to explain what a broken record is.

…

To Gaila's continued despondency, Nyota finds her non-relationship with Spock engenders nothing that remotely resembles salaciousness. Instead, it just means reading. Lots of reading. And when she's not buried in reading, she's having stilted conversations with him.

The fact that the Commander gets no easier to work with is something Nyota forces herself to put aside. She's a communications track cadet and a damn good one at that, so she makes herself view negotiating his abruptness and severity as training for future situations where she'll have to work with individuals who don't observe the same social niceties as humans do.

Still, she can't help but wonder whether she would have suggested this arrangement if she had known this side of him. In his office hours and the few times she had approached him after class, he hadn't exactly been warm and welcoming but he hadn't been quite as brusque, and even when they were negotiating their arrangement, he had been less curt.

Or maybe he hadn't. He had always been so quiet and withdrawn that maybe she just never spoke to him enough to notice his personality. And, now that she's spent enough time with him to discover it, she's not particularly impressed.

She knows on some level that Gaila's right and that she shouldn't be judging him according to how a human would approach a relationship, even a fake one, but it still nags at her and by their fourth meeting she's already not looking forward to it, and by the sixth, she's actively dreading it.

Still, she's careful to check her inbox often, to send him copies of her thorough notes, and she even revises her entire outline to include Herschelii's thesis, though nothing seems to help. He remains terse and off putting, so that they spend as much time sitting in silence as they do awkwardly trying to speak to each other and the hours she spends with him makes her want to grind her teeth in irritation.

"He is driving me _nuts_," she admits to Gaila one evening over dinner.

"Well, he doesn't know how terrifying you are when you get mad. Or how shrill you get."

"I'm not mad, I'm just…"

"Mad?"

"No. He's just not easy to be around and I kind of wish I hadn't suggested any amount of personal time with him if this is what he's like."

"Maybe he's uncomfortable."

"Do Vulcans even get uncomfortable?"

"If they did, probably fake dating a former student would be the way to achieve that," Gaila shrugs. "Or maybe he's in love with you. Secretly. Oooh, yes. Salacious. Just like I was saying."

"Stop. Please."

"Maybe he's just being really Vulcan."

"Well good for him. No wonder they have a reputation as being hard to work with."

"You've always liked a challenge," Gaila reminds her.

"This paper was supposed to be the challenge," Nyota says to her salad, poking at it listlessly. "Not dealing with my advisor."

"I bet you can wear him down with your charm."

"I'm pretty sure than Vulcans and charm are antonyms."

"I bet he's super charming underneath all the-"

"Rudeness, impertinence, and impatience with the limits of my human brain?"

"So he doesn't have Terran manners," Gaila shrugs. "Maybe he's being super polite for a Vulcan."

"Maybe," Nyota sighs.

"Give him another chance. Give him like six more chances. Give him proportional chances for how hot he is."

"You're ridiculous."

"Thanks," Gaila grins. "That's a huge compliment to an Orion. See? Interspecies competencies. I knew you were a high – or low, sometimes – playing card at the subject."

"He could use a crash course in that topic," Nyota says, stabbing at a carrot.

As much as she wants to drop off a copy of the Academy's 'Guide to Understanding and Interacting with Other Cultures' along with the copious notes on readings she prepares for him each time they meet, she doesn't. Instead, she imagines submitting her paper to various academic journals, even as he yet again interrupts their conversation to take a call on his comm with no explanation or apology. She visualizes receiving the news that it's been accepted for publication even when he once again doesn't bother to bid her goodbye, just leaves when he's decided their conversation is over. She imagines adding this independent project with him to her resume even as he raises an eyebrow over a tiny mistake she made in part of her notes, mistyping a phrase in Cardassian so that the verb conjugation is wrong.

"I overlooked that, sir," she explains quickly. "Sorry."

"Do not do so again."

"It wasn't intentional." He looks less than convinced by the idea it might have been just an error and she tries to keep her jaw from clenching. "Humans occasionally make mistakes, as much as we endeavor not to."

"Having worked with and taught a number of humans, I am well aware," he says coolly.

She doesn't quite know what to say to that, so just remains silent for the rest of the meeting except when he specifically asks her something.

It's no better the next time she sees him, or the next. Despite her best efforts, he remains curt at best and bordering on rude at worst, so that when he sits down across from her without a greeting and without preamble begins speaking, she's hardly surprised by the abruptness.

She is, though, surprised that he announces that the Saiph Ambassador does not believe they're dating.

"How do you know that?" she asks quietly. Around them, the student union is thankfully empty, but Nyota still looks up to see if anyone might have heard him.

"She is no easier to work with."

Nyota bites back what she wants to say, that the Commander isn't particularly easy to work with either and that she rather commiserates with the Ambassador.

"Did you tell her?" she asks instead of voicing that thought.

"No."

"Have you told anyone else who might have told her?"

"No."

"Well, does she have anyway of knowing?"

"If she is psi sensitive to the degree she can sense that neither of us are engaged in relationships, then she should be able to tell that has changed without any overt gesture on our parts. It is necessary that she believe that we-"

"Yeah, I know." When his lips tighten nearly imperceptibly, she amends her interruption. "I am aware, sir."

"If we cannot find a tenable solution, I will not have time to continue to help you with your project," he says and she feels her stomach sink.

"I'll think of something," Nyota promises. Her heart, as it does so often when he just looks at her like that, cool and assessing, starts to hammer in her chest and she wishes he wouldn't scrutinize her so closely.

"See that you do," he finally says, and then holds his hand out for her notes, which she hands over reluctantly, sure that it'll take him no more than five seconds to find an error in them.

It takes him three and she wishes, not for the first time, that she had taken Gaila up on her suggestion of a summer full of beaches, swimming, and fruity drinks.

Her mood is no better when she gets back to her dorm that night. Finding Gaila relaxing on her bed watching a holovid and halfway through a bowl of popcorn only makes it worse, the tension behind her eyes blooming into a full blown headache.

"What's wrong?" Gaila asks around a mouthful of popcorn.

"Nobody believes we're dating."

"No. I'm shocked," Gaila says, rolling her eyes and digging into the bowl for another handful.

"Gaila…" Nyota reaches for a handful of her own, but Gaila pulls the bowl away before she can grab any.

"Nope. Popcorn is reserved for those of us with the proper enthusiasm for fake dating."

"I would have more enthusiasm if he wasn't such a…" Nyota trails off before she lets herself think of the dozen or so words in as many languages that would be appropriate descriptors for the Commander.

"Ok, so you're not exactly his biggest fan, and while I'm pretty sure you could rectify that by checking out his butt, you seem – illogically, I might add – against that idea. And aren't you half convinced he hates you?"

"He does. This was a mistake. It's weird. And awkward. And for the record, yes, I know he's Vulcan, but he's _terrible_ at this."

"But he's so handsome."

"I just wish I had never started this with him if it's going to be like this all summer."

"But you did."

"But I did," Nyota agrees.

"And you love your paper."

"And I love my paper."

"And you're going to make this work."

"I'm going to make this work," Nyota echoes with a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "I just don't know how."

"That's why you have me," Gaila says simply and Nyota's not sure whether to feel relieved or nauseous.


	4. Chapter 4

"So I did some research," Nyota says when the Commander has settled into the chair across from her at the café.

"I would assume so."

"No, I mean… I obviously did the reading you assigned. But I also did some research on the various courtship rituals of different species."

"I see."

"I, uh, couldn't find anything about Vulcans, though."

"Vulcans do not date."

"Yeah I guessed that."

He looks even blanker than normal, if that's even possible.

"How was that the inference you drew?"

"I, ah…" she starts, then pauses, trying to think of an explanation other than the obvious fact that he doesn't act like he's ever tried to make someone like him in his life. Instead, she searches for something else that's equally true and not quite as… honest. "I study xenolinguistics nearly exclusively. When I couldn't find any references to a similar cultural practice in your language or any of the materials I reviewed, that seemed the most… logical deduction. Cultures don't tend to have words for practices or customs that don't exist."

He doesn't say anything and she bites at the inside of her cheek, wondering if he's going to speak or if she should keep going.

"So," she finally says, taking a quick sip of her tea and placing it carefully back down on the table between them. "I found that most societies do what we're doing: meet often, are seen together in public. But there's other stuff too, obviously, like telling their friends about the other. And, uh, humans touch each other in public, sometimes. Depending. Not strictly necessary." She carefully lines up her stylus with the edge of her padd so that they're parallel, grimacing inwardly at the idea of bodily contact with him.

"Is that what you suggest?" he asks and if he didn't look so stern she would guess he was equally horrified at the idea of actually touching each other.

"No, no, not at all. But I was thinking about what you said about the Ambassador being psi sensitive enough to be able to know that we weren't actually dating, so probably the simplest thing to do would be to just tell her."

"If we discuss this with her, she will likely realize that our focus is solely on your paper."

"That's not that bad, plus there's no sense in keeping it from her. And anyway, we discuss other things, like the details of our arrangement," Nyota adds with a wry grin.

"Why would we want her to know that? Does that not interfere with our goal of-"

"It was a joke. Sir."

"It was not amusing."

"Apparently." Nyota bites back a long sigh. "I don't think there's any reason to keep the fact that you're my advisor from her, and it might help your work with her if we're a bit more upfront about how much we've been seeing each other."

"That is your only suggestion?"

Nyota worries at her upper lip with her teeth for a moment. "I think that unless you want to start really acting like we're dating, such as getting to know each other, discussing our lives and our families, meeting each other's friends and all, this is the simplest way."

She doesn't add that she doesn't particularly want to do that and can't imagine that he would, so she's relieved when he just gives her a brisk nod.

"Taking the most straightforward avenue to resolving this is logical. Please inform her at your earliest convenience," he says, holding his hand out for her padd. "Today, I wish to discuss the relevancy of your line of inquiry into colloquial Organian."

"You want me to be the one to…" she trails off, feeling her stomach clench. He's there, and he's willing to help her with her paper even with the Ambassador being no easier to work with, so she swallows down her argument that he should be the one to have the discussion with the Saiph. "Right. Great. I will… do that."

…

"This is a terrible idea," Nyota whispers to Gaila at the door to the mess hall, so that her roommate has to push a finger into her back, hard, to get Nyota to step forward. "I can't believe he's making me do this, I don't even know what to say to her."

"We practiced. Go," Gaila whispers back. "Go, go, go."

"This is not a special ops mission."

"It should be with how hopeless you two are," Gaila hisses in reply. "Go!"

It's maybe thirty feet to where the Ambassador is tearing into what looks like a rib eye and each step of the way Nyota feels her stomach twist with nerves and something that feels a lot like revulsion as she watches the Saiph chew the bloody meat.

"Greetings," Nyota says in Saiphian and to her surprise, the Ambassador lifts a long fingered hand in an approximation of a human wave.

"Greetings."

"Are you enjoying your stay on Earth so far?" Nyota asks as brightly as she can.

"No."

"Oh. Well, is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?"

"No."

Nyota nods quickly and tries not to focus on how incredibly dour the Ambassador looks, folded into a chair and just staring back at her silently.

"Let me know if you think of anything." The Ambassador just blinks at her. "Right. Um, do you mind if I eat with you?"

"I do not."

"Great. That's great," Nyota says, quickly sinking into the chair across from the Amabassador and pulling out a protein bar, which, when Gaila came up with this plan, she decided would be the only food she could stomach when faced with the Saiph's dietary habits.

"You are solitary," the Ambassador informs her and Nyota quickly nods. She and Gaila decided that there was no use a trying to convince the Ambassador she and the Commander were particularly close to each other, not if the Saiph could tell they weren't.

"I am, yes," Nyota says, unwrapping her bar and taking a bite, even though her stomach rolls every time she looks at the Saiph's plate. "But I've been having tea with Commander Spock recently."

She doesn't know where the line is between the Ambassador's telepathic ability to tell whether or not she's in a relationship intersects with the face value of her words, so she tries as hard as she can to focus on the good parts of her meetings with the Commander. It's not the easiest thing to do, since she mostly enjoys them being over, but there have been at least a handful of times that their conversations have sparked an interesting topic of discussion and she latches onto those memories.

"What is tea?"

Nyota swallows a bite of her bar. "It's a hot drink made with fragrant, aromatic-"

"No. What is it to have tea?"

"Oh, its um…. Well we've been seeing each other. For that and for a couple meals. To spend time together," she clarifies. "For discussion and conversation."

Nyota wipes her palms on her skirt and forces herself to meet the Ambassador's gaze, even though she feels scrutinized under the unflinching attention.

"Conversation," the Ambassador repeats.

"The Commander is really quite well read," Nyota says quickly, glossing over the fact that she's pretty sure Commander Spock finds her less than aptly educated in certain matters and seems to have taken it upon himself to dump dozens of readings on her to rectify that. "He's very interesting to talk to."

"You are meeting him for these discussions?"

"Yes, quite often. It's… illuminating."

"And yet you remain solitary?"

"Oh, well," Nyota shrugs, trying for a quick grin. "It's not always so easy in my culture, to go from tea to something more serious."

The Ambassador falls silent and Nyota is reminded of the Commander's dark gaze in the way the Saiph watches her. Just when she wants to start fidgeting, or playing with the wrapper of her protein bar, the Ambassador leans back in her chair and steeples her fingers together.

"How long to become non-solitary."

"It can depend. Sometimes it's love at first sight for couples, and other times you have to spend quite a bit of time together."

"You want to spend time with the Commander?" the Ambassador asks and Nyota swallows under her shrewd gaze, knowing the true answer to that question is not something she wants to share.

"He's a very interesting man," Nyota explains carefully, her heart hammering. "But it's hard with our schedules. I have this project I'm working on this summer, and he's so busy…"

"That is an impediment?"

"Well it can be. And he-"

"-Is here."

"What?" Nyota asks, spinning in her chair to look where the Ambassador's pointing. She hopes the other woman takes the way she starts as something that's bordering on delight, not the knot that's quickly growing in her stomach at the sight of him engaged in an animated conversation with an Andorian – or animated for him, at least, the Commander nodding and the Andorian's antenna waving back and forth as he speaks.

Just as the Ambassador points him out, Commander Spock turns towards them and across the mess hall, she sees his gaze flick rapidly back and forth between her and the Ambassador.

He quickly excuses himself from his conversation and in a series of long strides is at the edge of their table before Nyota is quite ready for him to be there.

"Hi," she offers. He doesn't speak and Nyota has nothing more to add, so the three of them just hang in an uncomfortable silence for a long moment. Him being present for her conversation with the Ambassador was not in the plan and the Ambassador actually witnessing them together is a painful thought. "We were just having lunch," Nyota finally explains, gesturing to the Ambassador.

"Sit," the Ambassador orders and inwardly Nyota groans.

The Commander looks from her to the Ambassador, to the empty chair next to Nyota. He lowers himself into it carefully, settling so that he's as far from her as he can be without actually picking up the chair and moving it.

"You have been having tea," the Ambassador says in a tone that Nyota thinks is nothing less than accusatory.

"We have been," Nyota answers, trying to make her tone light. It mostly comes out strained. "It's been great, actually, since he's helping me, or, well, serving as an advisor for a project I'm working on this summer." She's rehearsed this in her head a dozen times, but even so, it feels strange to actually articulate the ruse aloud. And it doesn't help that the Commander's sitting so incredibly stiffly beside her.

"You have been spending time together," the Ambassador says and even though it's not quite a question, Nyota enthusiastically nods.

"Yeah, it's been really…" she tries to say fun but can't without lying, so she settles on, "Interesting. Right?"

The Commander just blinks in response to her question and she has the sudden urge to kick him under the table.

"Our conversations have been adequate," he finally gets out and Nyota feels something hot burn in her chest. If – when – she finds Gaila and forces her to apologize for ever suggesting this entire debacle, the very next thing she's going to do is have her roommate witness her swearing a very solemn oath to never, ever actually date someone who calls spending time with her 'adequate.'

The Ambassador sits completely still except for the quick, rapid darting of her eyes between Nyota and Spock, so that between the Saiph and the Commander's own focus on her, she feels the skin on the back of her neck start to crawl with the scrutiny.

"The cadet does not like you," the Ambassador finally says and Nyota wants to bury her face in her hands.

"That's really not…" she starts but can't quite bring herself to say that it's not true. "As I said, we haven't had that much time together since we're both so busy with work."

"You need more time so that you are able to become non-solitary," the Ambassador says and Nyota nods.

"Yes, it would really be easier for us if the Commander's work could-"

"I will send you the specifications you asked for, Commander," the Ambassador says.

If she wasn't so mortified from having the Ambassador point out that she's less than fond of the Commander, Nyota might find it amusing how he very nearly looks surprised, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes widening at the Saiph's words.

"That would be greatly appreciated."

"You will clean this while I return to my quarters to prepare the documents," the Ambassador orders, rising from the table and pushing her plate towards the Commander.

He waits until the Ambassador has left the mess hall before recoiling from the plate, pushing his chair back slightly and looking away from the heap of raw meat on it.

"I can take that," Nyota offers, watching him swallow and tuck his hands into his lap. As uncharitable as she normally feels towards him, shoving a plate of meat at a Vulcan hardly seems conscionable. Still, she takes a page out of his book and doesn't bother to say good-bye before tossing the wrapper from her bar onto the plate and heading towards the trash receptacles.

She's in the middle of imagining a scenario where she can sit the Ambassador and Commander down for a talk about interspecies courtesies, probably with a set of slides and handouts as to how to not come off as terribly rude, when she notices he's followed her.

"Thank you."

"It's no problem," she says, sliding the meat off the plate and into the garbage with a wet plop. "I would guess that she doesn't know you're a vegetarian, but I'm also not entirely sure that would have stopped her."

"Rather, I meant for your assistance in procuring the specification sheet. I have been asking her for access to it for the last eighteen days."

"I told you I'd figure something out," she replies, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. She should've guessed he would be surprised that she came up with a solution, but it still stings. "I have reading to get to, sir, if you'll excuse me."

"What did the Ambassador mean when you said you do not like me?" he asks and she feels heat rush to her face.

She freezes, unsure she can answer him without either stammering or snapping that the Saiph's reasoning should be incredibly, logically obvious. She forces herself to take a deep breath, and then another one, stalling so that she can think through a more appropriate response.

"Before you arrived, I was telling her that we didn't get to spend much time together," Nyota hedges. "And that because of that we don't know each other very well."

"That is not what she seemed to be implying."

"If you know, then why did you ask me?" Nyota asks, her voice far sharper than she intends. "I'm sorry, sir. Sorry for, uh, saying it like that."

"Saiphs are a psi sensitive race and in many ways their telepathic abilities resemble those of Betazeds or Deltans, though they are not quite as empathic," he explains and Nyota resists the urge to roll her eyes. Saiph's being able to pick up on relationships and impressions is fairly obvious to her, and the root of the whole problem they're having with the Ambassador knowing they're not actually dating.

"Yes, I know that."

"She was correct when she said you do not like me, was she not?"

Nyota swallows.

"As I said, I don't really know you, sir."

"You did not answer the question."

She presses her lips together.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"Honesty is preferable, Cadet."

"Look, does it matter, sir? You just said that you got the documents you've wanted for nearly three weeks-"

"Eighteen days," he corrects and she feels a muscle in her jaw clench.

"Eighteen days," she amends. "I don't see what the issue is if I resolved the problem you were having with her."

"I would not want the Ambassador to dwell on any interpersonal issues between us."

"If you are concerned that my performance will be affected, I can assure you that-"

"I am concerned that this remains an untenable situation, for even if she is amenable to assisting me at this juncture, if you are unable to control your emotions then it does not logically follow that her help will continue to be available."

"I will be fine, sir," she says, forcing her tone to be even.

"See that you are," he says, turning on his heel and walking away without another word. When he's gone, she lets out a long breath and lets herself sag against the wall.

It's a summer, not her whole life, and there's no way this can be more awkward or uncomfortable or unpleasant than what she'll face in the rest of her career when dealing with other cultures.

She imagines, again, having her paper published. She just hopes that image is enough to keep her going for the rest of this project and pushes off the wall to head back to the library.

…

"You are gripping your stylus with unnecessary force," the Commander interrupts her to say.

"What?"

"You are upset."

"I'm fine."

"Verbalizing that you are, as you say 'fine' does not reduce or belie the psychosomatic response to irritation, anger, distress, or displeasure."

"Thanks for the information." She bends over her padd so she won't have to look at him. "So this article on Trill verbs that you sent me-"

"You said you would be able to control your emotional response."

"Which is something I am currently seeking to do, sir," she says, pushing down the hot rush in her throat and focusing on her padd. "May we return to the discussion of the article?"

It's the third time they've met since Nyota's discussion with the Ambassador, and her and the Commander's subsequent talk afterwards. She's resorted to longer runs, increased time complaining to Gaila, and more than once has let Gaila drag her to the bar to deal with her irritation over her discussions with Commander Spock with a cocktail in her hand.

It helps, but apparently not enough.

"You said the Ambassador is joining us for lunch?" Nyota asks, releasing the hold she has on her stylus and concentrating on setting it gently on the table.

"Yes."

"I'm going to take a couple minute's break, then," she says, rising and ignoring the way a crease forms on his brow at her words.

Figures that not being able to work for four hours straight would be yet another thing that would displease him, she thinks as she walks briskly to doors of the mess hall, wishing they were the old fashioned kind she could jerk open. Instead, they smoothly part for her, so she satisfies herself by flicking open her comm with more force than is necessary.

"I'm developing anger management issues," she says when Gaila picks up.

"Hello to you, too."

"Tell me again why this is a good idea?"

"He. Is. Gorgeous."

"Gaila…"

"Oh, fine. Paper. Resume. Lieutenant stripes. Your insatiable need to be perfect. The _Enterprise_."

"He's the first officer on the _Enterprise_," Nyota sighs. She never would have believed anything would temper the dream of that ship for her, but Commander Spock has somehow managed to.

"You'll never see him. We'll be too busy fucking our way through-"

"Gaila."

"Geez, fine, screwing our way through all the security officers. Yum. Their training regimen, Ny, let me tell you."

Nyota does let Gaila tell her and chalks it up to how crazy the Commander makes her that she actually listens to her roommate's explanation of security officer training and its subsequent impact on humanoid musculature.

"Thanks," Nyota says softly when Gaila finally winds down.

"Just think, Commander Spock is the only man I've ever seen get you so riled up. I'm telling you, you suffer through this and the sex is going to be-"

"Gaila!"

"What? Cause I was just kidding about all the red shirts. You and him are-"

"Bye. Thanks, but goodbye."

Gaila's still laughing when they hang up and the sound buoys Nyota back inside, no matter how ridiculous her roommate is.

Of course, her stomach sinks when she lays eyes on the Commander again, and sinks farther when she realizes the Ambassador is already there.

She takes her time choosing ingredients for her salad, stalling the inevitable. When she can't spend any longer deciding what dressing she wants, she approaches the table and places her plate where she had been sitting earlier.

"You remain solitary," the Ambassador says to her and it makes Nyota want to hand out pamphlets to her and the Commander on how to say hello to a human.

"We've been seeing more of each other," Nyota says, steeling herself for the lunch she's about to have with the two of them. She sits carefully back in her seat, trying to remember how to act relaxed and like she doesn't want to just bolt out of there. "He's had so much more time recently."

"That is good."

"It is good," Nyota agrees. It actually has been great, in it's own way, since with the Commander's schedule freed up by the Ambassadors recent cooperation, she's gotten more done on her paper than she would have expected. Their relationship might be tense but they do work well together and he's found more than a few sources for her that have filled in holes in her research she may have not found herself.

"However, you both continue to be solitary."

Nyota nods and take a quick bite of lettuce, chewing while she thinks of what to say. The Commander isn't exactly any help, remaining silent as he stirs his soup and casts occasional glances at the Ambassador's plate.

"Well, like I said, it can take time," Nyota finally answers.

"Being solitary is disagreeable."

Nyota just nods again, trying to focus her thoughts on anything but the fact that spending any time with the Commander is in and of itself rather disagreeable.

"You still do not like him," the Ambassador says and the Commander glances up from his soup at Nyota.

"Well, I-" she starts.

"You have had time to come to know him."

"Yes, we have…" Nyota starts and tries to bite back the ire that the Commander is just sitting there, seemingly uninterested in helping her with this turn in the conversation. "You see-"

"Spock!" she hears and looks up to see the Andorian the Commander was speaking to the other day. He approaches with a wide smile stretched across his blue face, both antenna waving excitedly and despite dietary choices so similar to a Saiph, Nyota's has never been so thankful to see someone approach with a tray of bloody meat, if for no other reason than the Ambassador and the Commander have both stopped staring at her.

"Doctor," the Commander responds and if she didn't know better she might have guessed that he sounded nearly relieved at the other man's sudden presence.

"Good, right?" the Andorian asks, sitting down next to the Ambassador and nodding at her plate. He points to a large bone the Ambassador has been gnawing on. "Those are a delicacy on Andor, I'm glad you've been enjoying it."

"Who are you?" the Ambassador asks.

"Oh, am I interrupting?" The Andorian points an antenna at the Commander, who is looking stonily back at him.

"This is Doctor Puri," Commander Spock says.

"I am, I am," he chuckles, his antennae drawing quick circles in the air. "And you must be the Ambassador that Spock's working with, and you must be…"

"Uhura," she supplies.

"Nice to meet you," the doctor says, extending one blue hand.

His skin is cooler than she expects and his handshake is slightly off, like he hasn't quite mastered the Terran gesture, but he smiles at her again and she feels the tension that's settled in her stomach ease slightly.

"Nice to meet you as well."

"You are not solitary," the Ambassador tells him.

"I'm not… what?"

"The Ambassador is referring to the fact that you are married," the Commander explains.

"The Commander and Cadet have been having tea," the Ambassador says.

"What?" Puri asks again, one antenna pointing at the Commander and Ambassador in turn.

"It is excellent that you are not solitary," the Ambassador continues without pausing. "And this food is also excellent. You are excellent. Thank you for joining us."

"Thank you." The doctor bends both antennae briefly in the Ambassador's direction before poking one back towards the Commander. "So. This is a real treat for you, Spock, isn't it? Pike has a bit of a sense of humor, doesn't he?" he asks, glancing at his own plate and the Ambassador's before looking up at the Commander again. "And what is this about tea?"

"They have been meeting for tea in a quest to become less solitary."

"Less…" the doctor starts, looking between Nyota and the Commander before his antennae stick straight up and his eyes widen. "Really. No. Really?"

"An admirable pursuit, though they are less than adept at it," the Ambassador says.

"Less than adept," Puri echoes slowly and to Nyota's surprise shoots the Commander a huge grin before turning towards her. "Well then it's extra nice to meet you, Cadet. Need a few pointers, Spock?"

"Hardly."

"Is this the first thing you've ever been 'less than adept' at?" The Commander doesn't answer which just makes the doctor laugh loudly. "I'm going to tell the entire bridge crew, Spock."

"Please restrain yourself, Doctor."

"I'm going to get Hawkins to send out a memo. Pike will love this."

"Doctor…"

The Andorian just chuckles, stabbing at a piece of steak as his antennae gently wave back and forth.

Nyota has never seen anyone act so comfortably around the Commander and it has her reeling a bit, so that when Puri starts speaking to her, it takes her a moment to get her mouth to work.

"So you two met how?"

"Oh, I was his… I, uh, just finished his class."

"Page out of my book, Spock. That's the Terran saying, right Uhura?" he asks and when she nods, one antenna bounces up and down. "That's just how I met my wife. And I'm not sure who this will make happier, her or the Captain."

"You were her professor?" Nyota asks, her interest piqued by hearing that it's less rare than she would have thought for couples to meet like that in Starfleet.

"Other way around," he answers, swallowing a mouthful of steak. "Way back when Commander Spock was Cadet Spock and I wasn't even a doctor yet."

Nyota doesn't know if it's harder to wrap her mind around what good friends Puri and the Commander seem to be, or the notion that the austere, reserved Vulcan in instructor blacks sitting next to her was ever young enough to be a cadet.

"Doctor, this line of discussion is hardly relevant."

"I've been doing inventories for Pike all morning, I need some fun," Puri says, one antenna leveling at the Commander.

"Doctor-"

"We were roommates at the Academy," Puri whispers loudly, leaning across the table towards Nyota, who finds herself smiling despite herself.

"Really?" she asks, trying to figure out how a Vulcan could comfortably live with someone raised on an ice planet.

"It was great," he nods. "And I have quarters across the hall from him on the _Enterprise_ now, so as soon as we have those dilithium crystals and can take her out for her first trial flights, I can go back to messing with his environmental controls as much as I want to."

"Please refrain," the Commander says but all the formality that normally colors his voice when he speaks to Nyota is gone.

She glances up at him, surprised by the change in his tone, but he's just eating his soup as calmly as ever.

"You're on the _Enterprise_, too, then?" Nyota asks. She's interested in anything and everything about that ship, and having an officer on it who's actually willing to talk, as opposed to just point out her spelling mistakes has suddenly turned this lunch into something of a treat.

"Chief Medical Officer," Puri answers with a smile.

"And you said that Hawkins is…"

"Comms chief. And we have McKenna on the helm and Olson in Engineering, and Spock here and a handful of others. No navigator yet, Pike's still looking for someone to fill that position."

"That's great," Nyota says. "I had no idea the ship was so fully staffed already."

"No idea?" Puri asks. "What do you two talk about then? Spock's nearly beside himself with excitement." They both turn and look at the Commander's bland expression and the doctor bursts out laughing again, his antennae shaking with the force of it. "Well, you know what I mean. Pike has nearly the whole senior staff already assembled even though it's probably two years until we're really ready to ship out for good. Can't say I blame him for being anxious to get going. We're all dying to spend a month or two on space flight trials."

"That is a hyperbole."

For some reason beyond Nyota's understanding, the Commander's terse remark only makes Puri smile.

"You don't know that. I'm CMO, Spock, right now I could be rushing off to Sickbay to help save some poor bridge officer who spent too long dreaming of the stars and warp trails and freedom from the monotony of the Academy and Spacedock life," Puri grins, cutting himself another piece of his raw steak.

"Is that a common medical emergency?" the Commander asks and Puri laughs around his mouthful, his blue hand rising to cover his mouth.

"Might be if we never get our dilithium crystals," the doctor answers, swallowing. He bows both antennae towards the Ambassador.

"Commander Spock's relationship status is unpleasant to work with," the Ambassador says. "It slows the process considerably. I would prefer to work with someone who is not solitary."

"Well, you're out of luck with me, I'm afraid. I'm in charge of hyposprays, medical records, and that's about it. I don't have the big brain our Commander here does," Puri says. "And speaking of big brains, what are you two doing with all of this. Isn't it summer?"

The doctor nods to the stacks of padds at the edge of the table and Nyota follows his gaze, wishing she was either alone with her work in the library, Vulcans and Saiph's not invited, or that Puri could come to all of her and the Commander's meetings.

"The Commander is Cadet Uhura's research advisor," the Ambassador explains and only sounds slightly less disapproving than when she was calling him unpleasant.

"Wow, tea and research, sure you don't want any advice, Spock?" the doctor grins, taking the last bite of his steak. The Commander just looks steadily back at him, and though that blank gaze makes Nyota nervous and tense, the Doctor just continues to smile. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Surprised?"

"That you'd finally find someone who wanted to spend the summer reviewing…" the Doctor reaches out and pulls one of Nyota's texts towards him. "Theories of Trill Sociolinguistics? You must be a comm major, Uhura. Focusing in Xenoling?"

"Yes," she answers, watching him scroll through the first few pages.

"And here I thought Spock was teaching those classes because he likes to be around people who use 'literally' in its strict definition, and not as a figure of speech."

The misuse of 'literally' is, as Gaila's pointed out more than once, one of Nyota's biggest pet peeves.

"One of the benefits of the department," she agrees, finding herself smiling for the first time since she met up with the Commander that morning.

"Well, I don't want to interrupt you two. Literally. Nice to meet you, Cadet. Also, literally."

"You too," she says, wishing he wasn't going to leave.

"I will join you. It is more pleasant to be with one who is joined," the Ambassador says, rising from her place as Puri does, and at least that's something, not having to be with both the Commander and the Ambassador. "They should have time to become less solitary."

"Let me know how it goes," Puri chuckles. "Spock, I'm going to be calling you for details tonight."

"You will do no such thing."

Puri just laughs again and holds out his hand for Nyota's empty plate.

"Oh, thank you, sir," she says and one antenna flicks towards her in acknowledgement.

He takes Spock's bowl and the Ambassador's half eaten meal as well. The Ambassador follows him as he recycles their dishes and even from across the mess hall, it's clear how animated she is when speaking to him and how their conversation flows far more easily than it does when she speaks to Nyota or Spock.

"She is more willing to work with him than with me," the Commander says and she looks over to see that he's also watching them.

"Well, you were the one who said he was married."

The Commander nods slowly. "I was under the impression that the arrangement between the two of us would engender a similar rapport with the Ambassador."

"I was too," Nyota admits. She gestures to where the Ambassador and Doctor are deep in conversation. "I think that if you want… that, then things might have to change between us."

"I do not understand the issue you have with me."

"I-"

"You are consistently irritated by me."

"Sometimes," she finally admits. "I try not to be, but yes."

"Why?"

She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, hesitating.

"I'm really not comfortable with this conversation, sir, and I-"

"I am simply seeking an explanation as to the impetus for your vexation. I assure you I will not be offended as a human would be by such information."

She bites back a retort about humans being rather justified in their frustration, and instead tempers her tone as much as she can. "Sometimes you interrupt me while I'm speaking."

"What else?"

"Uh, you don't ever say hello or goodbye."

"That is a cause for annoyance?"

"Well…" She grimaces and chooses her words carefully. "It's not very polite."

"And it causes you such extreme irritation?"

"It's not just that, it's also like a hundred other things."

"A hundred exactly or is that an approximation?"

"See? It's that, right there. You're always doing stuff like that, or correcting me on something, or telling me I'm wrong and it's just constant."

"It could hardly be constant or we would never have an opportunity to discuss your paper."

"Fine." She crosses her arms over her chest and tries not to glare. "It's not literally constant. But it is more often than is necessary."

"You are a communications track cadet, so I would presume that you understand the importance of precision and efficiency in language," he says dispassionately. "These are not causes for indignation."

"Nor is precision or efficiency a reason to never greet me, nor to let a single phrase go uncritiqued."

"Perhaps you should exercise greater patience, Cadet."

"Perhaps you should consider that this is not solely my fault," she snaps. "There are two of us having these conversations, sir."

"You are aware that I am Vuclan."

"You are equally aware that I am human."

"Humans can often be overly sensitive to-"

"Look. I expect some amount of the respect you would afford someone of another culture, ok?"

Something flashes across his expression, but it's too brief and too subtle for her to figure it out, and it's gone before she can begin to try.

"Such as?"

"Such as… such as everything, sir. You act like you've never worked with humans before, which can't be true. Does it not logically follow that if you want me to simply brush off each and every time that you violate a form of politeness my culture observes, that I can expect an equal and comparable accommodation from you? In what scenario is it fair that I simply accept you interrupting me, correcting me, and frankly being quite rude in every manner of the word, while you make no compromises yourself?"

She takes a deep breath and presses her lips together, her heart thudding in her chest. He would be completely in line to censure her for such an outburst, but it still wouldn't invalidate her point. She and Gaila have been negotiating and meeting each other halfway ever since they were assigned to be roommates and while it's led to various sacrifices Nyota never thought she would ever be asked to make, Gaila has made plenty of her own.

She looks up at him to find him watching her with his mouth slightly parted. He closes it immediately when he sees her looking, but otherwise remains completely still and silent.

"I just don't think that's too much to ask," she finally says, trying to school the way her heart is racing under the weight of his gaze on her.

"I do not find your evidence sufficient to have caused you such distress."

"It doesn't have to be sufficient to you, you don't get to decide that, it's how I feel."

He just stares at her, like somehow standing there studying her will answer whatever isn't clear to him. His scrutiny makes her shift awkwardly on her feet, then chew on her lip, and then set her jaw as she tries to resist glaring at a senior officer.

"You are not being logical," he finally declares and she reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"Is that some sort of requirement for you?"

"Naturally."

"Look, you're not pretending to be in a relationship with another Vulcan, you're pretending to be in one with a human," she says, knowing her voice is rising but quite unable to help herself.

"And you with a Vulcan."

"Trust me, that is more than apparent."

"Is it?"

"Look…I can't - this with us…"

"Please just say what you mean instead of obfuscating your opinion."

"Fine. Frankly, nobody in their right mind would date you like this."

"The same could be said for you," he says coolly and she feels her jaw clench.

"I get that you come from a different culture-"

"Truly?"

"Truly?" she echoes, anger rising hot and fast in her chest. "Yes, of course I do. And can you really stand there and pretend you know nothing about human social norms after spending so many years in Starfleet? Is that logical in the slightest? I can't imagine you would treat Captain Pike like this."

For the first time he hesitates.

"No," he admits and she sighs. She raises her hand to rub at her forehead and doesn't bother to drop it in order to look at him when he speaks again. "However, I have professional relationships with my human colleagues and a degree of compromise on my part is necessitated by my position in Starfleet."

"Is this not professional?"

"I do not recall you requesting greater interpersonal concessions as my student, Cadet," he says blandly and she swallows the hot rush that rises in her throat.

"You're not listening to my point."

"I do not believe you are particularly extending much energy to considering my own," he responds and she has to look away from him for a long moment as she takes a deep breath, and then another one, trying to resist the urge to just scoff at his remark.

"I think that maybe this arrangement between us was ill advised," she finally says when she's sure she can keep her voice steady.

"You would like to discontinue your project?" he asks and her stomach sinks at the thought.

"No. But I wanted this to be simpler than it is, and it doesn't seem like that's going to happen, is it?"

He doesn't answer, but his silence says enough.

She's got all her filmplasts neatly stacked and in her bag when he finally speaks.

"Cadet-"

"What?"

"Will you consider-"

"No, I'm sorry but I can't do this with you."

"Cadet-"

"Thank you for your help so far, sir, I'm sure you'll see this paper published in a journal once I find an advisor next semester. Goodbye, Commander."

She quickly gathers up the rest of her research and shuffles the padds into her bag, tossing her stylus in on top of that, and turns and walks away from him.

She looks back, once, when she's reached the door, but he's just standing in the same spot, so she steps out into the night air, shaking her head to clear it of the fog of anxiety and annoyance and disappointment, already resolving to not think about him again.


	5. Chapter 5

"No," Gaila gasps. "You broke up with your fake boyfriend who's actually your research advisor and who is also your former professor? Nyota Uhura!"

"We didn't 'break up', Gaila, we were never actually dating. We parted ways professionally and I'll just figure out what to do about this project next semester."

"So you're not currently working on it," Gaila says slowly.

"Guess not," Nyota sighs, rubbing at her forehead. "All that research. So many hours, you know?"

"I do know. I know a lot of things. Such as that human females enjoy the company of friends and the consumption of alcohol and ice cream after a break up."

"Again, Gaila, we didn't break up because-"

"-But if you never really date, which you don't, you can never really break up, so this is the closest I'll ever come to having a wild night out on the town with you to cheer you up over some guy. I know, I know," she says, holding up her hands, green palms facing Nyota. "Replace 'guy' with 'paper' and it'll be more accurate. But I'll magnanimously forgive you for that if you put on that red dress that's been collecting dust for months now and a pair of heels and maybe a bra that isn't completely horrendous."

"I don't know," Nyota says, shaking her head. "I'm not sure I'm up for going out."

"This is my chance to console you post break up. Are you really going to take this away from me?"

"Yes?"

"No," Gaila tells her, her voice as stern as Commander Spock's has ever been. "Get dressed. Let's go."

…

Nyota's first completely free day of summer break dawns bright and clear and she lays in bed staring at the ceiling with a sense of emptiness she hasn't felt in longer than she can remember.

When she finally gets up, she kicks her bag with her padds of research in it under her bed and tries to forget about it and enjoy the free time. But her headache, which she blames on Gaila, and the nagging, vacant feeling of a summer with no research and no work grates at her until she finally pulls on her running shoes and decides to sweat out her hangover and disappointment.

Which is a really great plan for the time between the first ten minutes of her jog when she just wants to die and the moment she runs into Commander Spock.

He's with the Ambassador again, who is quite clearly ignoring him. The way the Saiph is ignoring him makes Nyota wonder if he's told the Ambassador that they're no longer seeing each other, or if the she is just frustrated to be back with the Commander rather than the sensibly married Doctor Puri. Either way, her long robes and hair snap and billow in the wind as she walks away from the Commander, who has to nearly jog to keep up with her.

Nyota's favorite running route takes her right past where they're walking and she tamps down on the urge to avoid them.

"Sir," she nods as she reaches him. She's not particularly surprised when he doesn't greet her, just watches her with those dark eyes as she jogs past.

And that seems to be it.

She sees him around occasionally but he doesn't approach her and after the first time he barely glances her way.

But their last conversation still chafes at her and somewhere between her annoyance and indignation and underneath the irritation that the very thought of him instills in her, she can't help but wonder about the ramifications of being so… honest with a commanding officer.

And honesty isn't even it, rather a plainly brutal critique of the Commander's interpersonal skills which didn't acquit her particularly well as a budding communications officer.

"Was I out of line?" she finally asks Gaila over Cardassian Sunrises.

"No. If you hadn't said all that to him, you'd be in the library."

"I like the library. And I'm serious."

Gaila shrugs and stirs her drink with one of the many cocktail umbrellas she weaseled out of the bartender.

"Yes."

"Gaila!"

"What?"

"You're supposed to be supportive."

"I thought you wanted me to be honest."

"Yeah, but…"

"You want me to do that thing where humans pretend like their friends did nothing wrong and then never give advice that would actually be helpful?"

"Yes. Do exactly that."

"Well, that's just stupid. Look, knowing you, you could have probably toned down the feedback to him. Maybe you miss having Kirk around to yell at?"

"I do not miss Kirk," Nyota sighs. "I have never been so happy to have him gone for a summer."

"Well, I'm sure he misses you. He likes you, you know."

Nyota just rolls her eyes, even though Gaila's comment has its intended impact of making Nyota think kinder thoughts about Kirk than she is particularly partial too.

And it's just as well that Gaila says out loud that Nyota's too harsh sometimes, not that it isn't something she doesn't know about herself. Since the night she first met him a year ago, Kirk has on more than one occasion incited the same type of impatience that results in her snapping at him. While he mostly just smirks and sasses right back, there have been a handful of times his eyes have gotten a bit too wide and his reply a bit too stammered, so that it tugs somewhere down deep in Nyota's gut.

As the days pass, she has the same reaction to the Commander's continued, studied avoidance of her, and while she doesn't renege on her sentiments, how uncomfortable she is with how she delivered them settles in her stomach like a knot that won't quite go away.

"I think I messed up," she finally admits to Gaila in the middle of a holovid they're ostensibly watching, though Gaila's engrossed in a lingerie catalog and Nyota's worrying at her bottom lip, thinking all too hard for a Sunday afternoon.

"Hmm."

"But I still meant what I said."

"Uh huh."

"I just…" Nyota starts, then lets herself trail off. She stares at the monitor, watching a human playing a Klingon - with a truly terrible Klingon accent - finally surrender to the group of Starfleet officers who have been trying to subdue him for half of the movie. "He's still annoying, you know? I'm not going to ignore that."

"You're just mad he lowered you a number of scratches."

"What?"

"Like how you mark how many sexual partners you've had."

"I don't-"

"On the piece of wood that supports your mattress."

"Um-"

"I started recording mine on your bed since I ran out of space. And, you know, for a comm major, you're terrible at this. Which was kind of his point, if you think about it."

"His point? He's the first officer of a ship and is in charge of hundreds of crewmembers and he's the most unlikeable person I've ever met! Pike was crazy to hire him."

"The Commander's giant Vulcan brain undoubtedly eclipsed the fact that he's not exactly warm and cuddly. Or oooh, I bet Pike just knows that the crew will love him because of his butt. I don't know how you're immune to that, Ny."

"Probably because I had the pleasure of being exposed to his absolutely terrible personality."

"You just don't like that he's as stubborn as you are."

"That's not it," Nyota says and crosses her arms, glaring at the Klingon, who's now revealed himself to be a Romulan in disguise. The actor's accent in Romulan is even worse than in Klingon and Nyota glowers at the screen.

"Only you would think that you could be more obstinate than a Vulcan, Ny."

Nyota's nearly entirely sure that Gaila's missing the point, but even so she's not exactly working through an apology in her head.

And anyway, she and the Commander have proven quite capable of avoiding each other and ignoring the other when they do see each other, and as far as solutions go she's completely fine with it. She'll just deal with the fact he's a senior officer on the ship she's determined to be assigned to in two years when she's done with the Academy, and until then she can continue alternating between righteous anger and wondering if yelling at him is going to have a detrimental effect on her career.

Which it might, she knows. It's a thought that rises to the forefront of her thoughts more than once while her mind's wandering during a long run or in the minutes before she falls asleep. It's one thing to have the confidence to stand up to an officer but its something entirely different when that officer is an off-worlder and the altercation is over cultural issues.

So, when she's returning to her dorm one afternoon and sees him standing near the short flight of steps leading up to the entrance, her first thought is that not only is she in for a dressing down but also that it's probably not completely undeserved.

"Sir," she says as she approaches, dread welling in her chest hot and thick even as she wildly casts about for any evidence that he's there for a reason other than to see her.

No such luck, though, since he watches her as she approaches and takes a step towards her as she draws near.

She's so busy trying to formulate how best to explain that she still thinks he was being a jerk while couching that in a way that might salvage any chance she still has to be assigned to his ship that she completely misses his words when he speaks.

"What?"

"I said that I wished to apologize, Cadet. I was not certain as to what type of Terran flora would be appropriate."

"Wait, what?"

"In lieu of deteriorating plant life-"

"Deteriorating? They're not supposed to be… what's going on? Why are you here?"

"Then why do humans insist on cutting the - Regardless, I brought you several journal articles which are on the topic of your paper, and which I do not believe you have come across as of yet."

He holds them out to her and she takes them, impressed despite herself. They're helpful, actually really helpful at filling in a few missing links she hasn't found sources for yet.

"Thank you," she says, awkwardly shuffling them as she glances through them once more, stalling so that she doesn't have to look up at him. Finding him standing outside her dorm is jarring, especially when she thought she'd already be upstairs by now, choosing yet another holovid to watch and continuing to lament the waste of time this summer has been.

"As I said, I wish to apologize to you," he says carefully, slowly, like he's worried she's going to beat a hasty retreat now that she has her padds. "You were correct that my assumption that you should make the entirety of intercultural compromises was discourteous and therefore illogical."

His words make her look up at him and she finds him watching her impassively. She tries to come up for something to say and ends up drawing a blank for a long minute, her mind traitorously empty under his scrutiny.

"Uh, thanks," she finally says into the silence, just to have something to break the heavy discomfort between them.

He nods, a short, abrupt gesture before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving her opened mouthed, the padds he just handed her dangling at her side.

She's about to call after him – to say what she doesn't know – when he stops and turns so he's looking back at her over his shoulder.

"Good day, Cadet."

"Sir," she replies and stands there watching his steady, measured strides as he walks away.

She's moving before she quite knows what she's doing.

"Sir, Commander," she calls, half jogging to catch up to him. "Sir, I also apologize for the way in which I said all that. It was inappropriate and I'll try to restrain such emotional outbursts in the future."

He tucks his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches her.

"Cadet, as you continue your education you will find that tone and the interpretation thereof varies considerably from culture to culture and species to species."

"No, I know, but-"

"I am not certain you do." He pauses, then, and she watches his focus draw inward, like he's processing something. "Ah. I apologize for interrupting."

She nods, unsure of what to say, her mind circling around his comment, the conversation and him inexplicably standing there in front of her, despite the fact she was quite sure they'd never speak again.

"So you're saying then that how I said what I said wasn't particularly offensive to you?"

"Only in the sense that I have been trained to recognize the signs of insubordination in humans," he says and she feels her face grow hot. "It is no matter, Cadet, do not trouble yourself."

"You're still a senior officer."

He nods in acknowledgement, and then just waits there, studying her again. It reminds her of all those hours in his class, back before all this got so messy between them, when he was just her professor and he would have that same look on his face, bland but something about it edging towards expectant. More often than not he would just wait until the cadet under his scrutiny either stammered out a question as to what the Commander was waiting for, or they made whatever intuitive – logical, probably – leap he assumed they were capable of.

Now, already thrown by his presence, it takes her a long time to figure out what that might be.

"You never wanted to be rude," she says, her earlier embarrassment coming back tenfold. "A cultural misinterpretation on my part, based upon your own tone and word choice."

"That is correct, Cadet," he says in that unhurried manner he would often take from behind his lectern when he was gearing up for a long dialogue with a student. "I did not intend to cause offense. However, it was incumbent upon me – much as it is for you whenever working with an individual with different cultural practices – to better consider and respect how you would… feel in those circumstances and act accordingly. Again, I apologize for the lapse in consideration."

"I'm sorry, too. I really, really, never meant to stereotype you as rude. I- I apologize, sir."

He's quiet for long enough that she doesn't think he's going to say anything else, so she's on the verge of thanking him again for the articles and saying goodbye when he finally speaks.

"I admit to a certain confusion, which perhaps you will be amenable to explaining." He waits until she nods before continuing. "When you were my student, you seemed particularly receptive to feedback on your work and yet over the course of this project there was a discernable difference in your acceptance of such."

She feels too laid bare in front of him, too vulnerable from their conversation, and too discomposed after finding him outside her dorm, so she has to bite back her first reaction of defensiveness and the urge to deny that's what she was doing.

She looks away from him for a long moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek and studying the empty lawn outside her dorm that's normally full of cadets.

"I wanted to do my paper the way I wanted to do it and you weren't my advisor from the beginning and I designed the whole thing with Doctor Carrick, not with you, and… And then all of this, with the Ambassador and everything."

"And everything?" he echoes, the words sounding vague and imprecise and ill matched to his careful enunciation.

"Yeah, it's – it was ridiculous, I know, but-"

"Why did you not simply say that?" he cuts in and she feels that familiar heat flare in her chest.

"Because you don't listen," she snaps and then takes a deep breath, forcing herself to relax her grip on the padds she's suddenly tightly clutching. "I'm sorry, sir, but you don't exactly welcome feedback like that."

"That is incorrect. It is illogical to avoid criticism if it could help one improve."

"Then stop interrupting me," she says, harsher than she would have liked. "And try to create some sense that if I actually say something like that you won't turn around and make me feel stupid, or illogical, or like an idiot, or whatever."

"I do not think you are unintelligent, and furthermore as I am facing you there is no need to turn."

Nyota presses her lips together and stares at the sky for a long moment before she feels calm enough to respond to him.

"You teach in xenoling."

"Xenolinguistics, yes. As you are aware, from having recently been my student."

Talking to this man is quite possibly the most infuriating thing she's ever done since starting the Academy and that's counting every interaction she's had with Kirk, who's starting to look like a perfectly reasonable gentleman compared to Commander Spock.

"As you know, one of the hallmarks of the discipline, and one of the things that's hammered home – uh, reinforced – during our training is the way in which differences in culture, language use, and customs shouldn't be a cause for amusement, indignation, or annoyance."

"I should have thought that would be clear to you, as you have completed your second year of schooling."

"It is clear," she says stiffly, her mind racing to try to control the ire he sparks in her. Getting angry – angrier – won't help. "And I understand the point you made that I shouldn't misinterpret your words based on how you say them. But, it is very, very difficult for me – for humans in general, probably, but I won't generalize since I don't know your coworkers very well – to feel comfortable working with you or talking to you when you act like that. I understand that when you translate Vulcan to Standard the phrasing is harsher and more abrupt than native Standard speakers tend to use, and your language lacks the colloquialisms and informal speech patterns that we use to express comfort or familiarity with another, but you have to understand the way you come across. And it frankly hurts our – my – feelings to constantly be treated like I'm a step behind." She holds up her hand when he goes to speak and it takes him a moment, but he finally closes his mouth again. "Let me guess. You could construct a very logical argument right now that my feelings are my own to deal with and as a native Terran and native Standard speaker I should make concessions to off worlders, minority species, and those who are otherwise marginalized by the dominant, human culture of Starfleet."

"As I said, Cadet, I do not consider you unintelligent."

"Thanks, I think. And trust me, I completely agree with that and am willing to abide by that. But that doesn't mean that if I misinterpret the way in which you say something or find you rude that my feelings are immediately invalid. Maybe I shouldn't feel like that, but I still do. And being embarrassed and uncomfortable makes it hard to take your feedback and hard to work with you on a project."

He just studies her for a long time, his expression completely blank, before he tips his head to the side and draws in a breath.

"That is an unfamiliar concept to me."

"Well, you learn new things every day."

"Indeed."

"And, um, speaking of that…" she starts, wanting to chew on her lip again as she considers whether or not to ask her question. "Do you, uh, know what it means to turn around and do or say something?"

His eyebrows draw together. "You are suggesting that I do not."

"It's an expressionthat suggests a complete reversal of an opinion, or something that comes off as abrupt or unexpected. When the phrase is used like that it's not a physical action."

"I see. Thank you for your explanation."

"It's no problem. I'm still sometimes shocked that we chose Standard as our, well, standardized language when it's anything but easy to learn."

"I grew up speaking it."

"Oh." She feels herself flush, chagrined by her assumption that he didn't, based upon his Vulcan diction and careful elocution. "Yeah, I guess it makes since it would be taught in school, since it's the Federation's primary-"

"I learned it outside of my schooling," he says abruptly and then stills, his head tipped to the side. "I should not have interrupted you."

"It's fine," she says, trying to resist the urge to ask him where exactly he learned to speak it if not in school, and what type of environment he was in if that particular phrase was unfamiliar to him. A non-native speaker or regional differences from whoever taught him, maybe, or even an inclination towards teaching the language in a Vulcan way, where you might intentionally leave out idioms and jargon so that when its spoken it still keeps within the language traditions of the dominant culture. Or even someone who lived on Vulcan for so long that abandoning the quirks of Standard became second nature.

She realizes, abruptly, that she's just been staring at him and flushes again, focusing instead on a tree over his shoulder, the even green grass of the lawn, then down at the padds in her hand to avoid looking at him again.

"Thanks for these," she finally says, hugging the padds to her stomach and crossing hands over them.

"You already thanked me." Something around his eyes narrows, even though she swears nothing in his expression actually changed. "That comment is the type of which you do not appreciate."

"Yes. I get it, it's probably weird for you to hear me repeat myself like that, but it sometimes reiteration helps make a point." And helps fill awkward silences with former professors and former fake boyfriends, she doesn't add.

"Curious. I had assumed that particular human tendency was due to faulty memory."

She feels that familiar spark of indignation again, but he actually does sound curious, as if she just explained something about humans he had no clue about, so instead of getting mad at him she finds herself huffing out a small laugh.

"Faulty memory? Really?"

"Is that amusing?"

"No. Yes."

"Which is it?"

"Both."

"Both?"

"Both," she confirms, matching the solemnity of his tone.

He does that thing again where he just looks at her for longer than a human would, before he nods at the padds in her hands and glances from them back up to meet her eyes again.

"As we did not finish our most recent meeting, I would be amenable to providing assistance so that you can conclude the current vein of research you are conducting."

"But we're not-" she says, waving vaguely between them. "Anymore. I thought we decided that it was a pretty terrible idea."

"My offer for one more meeting is not contingent upon our previous arrangement. I remain your faculty advisor and if you do not wish to continue your project, I would at the very least wish to leave your paper in a state that it can be easily resumed with another professor."

"Ok." She looks down at the padds she's still holding, then up at her dorm. Gaila's probably going to kill her, or at least bring the tentacle guy back, but the Commander's right that meeting just once more would be helpful. Really helpful, actually, and it would be a good point from which to start this project again in the fall. And maybe it's one more chance to clear the air between them. He's not interrupting her or correcting her every other sentence she speaks, and her urge to throttle him has largely died down. Maybe not completely, but she at least currently doesn't want to yell at him, and that's something. "Let me read these first."

"You have my contact information when you are ready."

"I do."

"Very well. Have a pleasant afternoon, Cadet."

"Bye, sir."

He gives her one last inscrutable look and it's not until she's watched him turn past a building and out of sight that she moves to go inside.


	6. Chapter 6

They plan to meet in his office, but she gets a call from him that morning that due to renovations, the entire building is closed until further notice.

"The maintenance director did not sufficiently communicate the disruption," he says, his voice curt and she wonders at the note of irritation that underlies his words.

"Somewhere else then," she says, shifting her comm to her other hand and turning her shoulder so that she can avoid Gaila's open mouthed stare. "Tea, again?"

"Very well."

In the moment where there used to be the click of a disconnected call, leaving her comm abruptly, stonily silent in her hand, instead she hears the faint sound of him taking a breath.

"Bye," she offers.

"Goodbye, Cadet."

It's way too stiff and formal and threatens to make her smile, an urge that quickly dies when she looks up to find Gaila still staring at her.

"What?" Nyota asks, tossing her comm on her bed with studied nonchalance. "It's just one more meeting. He said he felt bad that we didn't get to finish our last conversation. Or, rather, that it's logical to finish the thread of research we started, or whatever."

"Oh."

"You seem surprised."

Gaila mutely nods, her mouth closing with a click.

"Anything you want to say about it?"

"I… no," Gaila says slowly and Nyota doesn't know whether her roommate looks more shocked at not having a comment or the fact that Nyota is seeing the Commander again.

…

Instead of worrying about what to wear, she throws on her jeans, and instead of worrying about checking her messages a half dozen times, she checks them once, finds nothing important, and ignores her inbox for the rest of the morning.

She finds him waiting for her with tea in front of him, his padds neatly arranged on the table they usually sit at, and instead of rushing over to him to make sure she's not wasting his time, she gets herself a mug of chai and when she's settled across from him, pulls out the padds he lent her and pushes one of them to the side of the table.

"This one wasn't helpful. It was interesting, so thanks for finding it, but I'm not sure how you thought it would relate to my topic."

"I had thought that perhaps you would consider including mention of Rousseau's theory of xenocultural relativity."

"I'd rather keep my paper more focused instead of bringing in too many theoretical frameworks."

He nods, the motion less abrupt than it might have been.

"Very well."

"I was actually wondering if you could send me the access codes to the database of those longitudinal studies of non-Terrans who take Standard as a Second Language. I can find other resources, but having the raw SSL data would be helpful so that I can run a regression analysis comparing test scores to star system of origin for each participant," she continues, quickly falling into the easy rhythm of their earlier conversations about her work.

"Logical," he states, raising his tea to take a sip.

"I know we don't have those same type of resources for Romulan and Klingon since we don't have any native speakers of those enrolled here, but I'd still like to include them if I can. I'm fine if I have to drop my research into Klingon, but I'm pretty sure that my Romulan is strong enough on it's own that I should be fine there. If we have any information of other Federation citizens learning Romulan, or Romulans learning Standard, I'd love to know about it."

He sets down his mug carefully, his fingers still wrapped around the handle. "You speak Romulan?"

"I'm not proficient every dialect. High Romulan is so rarely broadcasted into Federation space that while I can speak and understand it I wouldn't call myself fluent. But with the two more informal dialects I've been able to amass enough recordings that yes, I feel confident in it."

Something shifts in his face that might be a frown. "There are no archives of Romulan, nor classes in it at the Academy."

"I just did it on my own," she explains, which she thinks should have been clear to him as he just pointed out that Starfleet didn't have the necessary materials.

"You taught yourself Romulan?"

"Yes." She drums her fingers on the table, then makes herself stop and wraps her hands around her cup, the heat seeping into her skin. "It should really be taught at the Academy."

"A political choice."

"Oh. Really? Why?"

He opens his mouth to answer and she watches the way his head tips slightly, his mouth closing again as he focuses his gaze on the table between them.

"I am not certain."

"It doesn't make sense to send out Federation vessels with such little support for the language, when we know the entire Romulan Empire is out there. And especially with such tension over the last few decades… I guess I never thought of the Academy's curriculum as being a political grounds." She sips at her tea before placing it back on the table. "That can't be logical, can it?"

He pauses again before giving a slight shake of his head. "No."

"Well, either way, it's helpful to know and easy enough to learn since I was already fluent in Vulcan."

"May I ask how many languages you speak, Cadet?"

When she tells him, he replaces his mug, already halfway to his mouth, on the table without drinking from it.

"And for your proficiency with Romulan, where you found these recordings?"

"The long range sensor lab. I just download them when I find them, and it's never more than bits and pieces, really, but I can generally string them together." She pauses, then adds quickly, "I don't do it during my shift there, sir, I take them home and do it afterwards. And that's within regs, I checked the security clearances for that lab."

"You taught yourself Romulan from clips of old transmissions that you picked up while simultaneously performing your duties in the long range sensor lab," the Commander says slowly.

"Well, it took a while. I had to differentiate between them and other sonic subspace anomalies, then gather enough of them to begin to make sense of what I was listening to, but yes." He's just looking at her, his fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug like he was about to pick it up again and then forgot to do so. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"Not at all," he says, taking a quick sip of his tea. "Perhaps, if you have time over the summer you could amalgamate your resources into a format that would allow access for others who are interested in learning the language. Starfleet might be reticent to adopt it as a course offered at the Academy, but you are correct that it is logical that communications officer be well versed in it."

"Well, ok," she says. She has plenty of time and no matter how much fun she has with Gaila, she's already itching for actual work. She knows the strain and exhaustion of the semester is looming at the end of the summer, but she came to Starfleet to have a successful career and at least this is an opportunity to do that. "But surely the VSA has a tutorial program. Otherwise how did you learn it?"

He carefully sets his mug back down, spinning it so that the handle is parallel with the edge of the table. "I do not speak Romulan."

"Oh."

"Let us return to the topic of your paper," he says and she doesn't think she's imagining how quickly he chances the subject. "I have a number of final comments on your work."

He calls up what she recognizes as her outline, now with dozens of neat, red notations near nearly every paragraph.

"It looks like it's bleeding."

He draws back from it slightly, studying it.

"No, it does not. There is no fluid, nor-"

"Never mind," she says, holding out her hand to take it from him.

She loses herself in his notes, discussions of Romulan largely forgotten as she peruses his comments and annotations. She looks up once to find him watching her, but he immediately drops his gaze and takes another sip of his tea, so she doesn't think about it again, that peculiar, rapt attention of his.

…

"Just some work," she tells Gaila. "Like a couple hours."

Gaila frowns.

"Ok, two hours. Just two hours."

Gaila puts her hands on her hips.

"One hour. One really quick hour."

Gaila scowls and Nyota sighs.

"One hour and then I'm all yours, I swear, ok?" She backs out of their room, then sticks her head back in to say, "Plus the time to walk there!"

"Just go!" she hears from her irate roommate.

An hour doesn't give her much time to go through the recordings she has on Romulan, but at least she can focus better in the library than she ever could in her room. Gaila is, in general, a great roommate but she's always rustling something, opening drawers too loudly, tapping her stylus, or humming, and Nyota likes the peace and silence of the library, the heavy quiet that seems to permeate its very walls.

And now, it's even quieter than normal. In stark contrast to the bustle of finals week, her footsteps echo dully along the empty hallway. It's eerie, almost, to go from the constant shuffling of cadet's filmplasts and padds, and the scent of coffee and other species appropriate stimulants that hung heavy in the air despite a strict no beverages policy, to being the only one there.

It's no surprise, then, how high she jumps when Doctor Puri emerges from behind a shelving unit full of padds.

"Sorry!" he whispers, overly loud and harsh in the stillness. Both antennae are sticking straight up from his crown of white hair, nearly shivering in shock, and his normally light blue skin has darkened to navy.

Nyota lets out a startled breath, her hand on her chest and they both look at each other and then laugh at the same time.

"You scared me," she says, dropping her hand and wiping her suddenly sweating palm on her skirt. "I thought I was alone in here."

"I thought I was too!"

"I wouldn't have imagined that anyone else would be here," she says as adrenaline drains out of her and leaves her slightly shaky in its wake.

"I would say the same thing, except that I shouldn't be surprised that the woman Spock is seeing would spend her summer in a library of all places."

"I, ah-" she starts. "It's really not-"

"Something you want to talk about?" he asks. "Because I tried to ply Spock for information – my wife is dying to know about this, let me tell you – but you know him, it's like talking to a wall sometimes, especially when he's made up his mind about staying quiet."

"I'm sure that's the case," she says, frantic for a reply to fill the silence after his comment.

"Well, I'll have to tell Arlene that I struck out again," he says, one antenna bobbing up and down in what Nyota has to guess is a shrug.

That gesture, and his comment stirs something that nags at her and she's aware of studying him for a long moment, the quiet stretching between them.

"Sir, may I ask… well, it's just that you're quite familiar with Terran phrases and expressions and I don't mean to be presumptuous but…"

"I was raised in San Francisco," he answers to her unspoken question. "Just a few blocks away from here, actually. And Tellar Prime, and Fomalhaut II for a couple years, Theta Maenali V for a bit, and then on Vulcan – though I didn't know Spock when I lived there – and finally Sigma Phoenicis VII, where my parents still live. Needless to say, after moving around so much, some things stuck. And, as it turns out, spurred an interest in xenomedicine."

He gestures to the padd he's holding and she recognizes one of the medical texts she's seen McCoy with numerous times.

"Wow, that's… that sounds really interesting, sir."

"It was. You and Spock should come over for dinner some night and I'll tell you all about my quest to find air conditioning on Vulcan."

She can't help but grin.

"Was it successful?"

"I'll leave you in suspense until you come to dinner," he answers and she feels her smile widen as his antennae twitch with the Andorian sign of amusement.

Her grin fades again as she actually considers his offer.

"That's very generous, but…" she trails off, shaking her head. "We're not… it's complicated."

"He's a complicated man, but one of the best," Puri says with a smile that's so fond it softens something inside Nyota's chest. "I'll get in touch with him and let him know you're dying to sample some Andorian cuisine. We'll even cook the meat for you. And enjoy your work, Uhura, it's pretty pleasant to not be with masses of cadets in here."

It is pleasant, but just as much because of the amused buzz their conversation leaves her with as the solitude and peace of the library.

She's deep into a list of Romulan verbs, her mind is churning over how interesting Doctor Puri is, and relishing the silence when a tap of boot steps interrupts her perusal of her padd. She manages not to jump this time, neither at the sound nor the sight of the Commander walking towards her with his hands tucked behind his back.

"I was just looking through some of my material on Romulan," she explains as he draws near to the table she's chosen, one of the big ones next to a window she rarely can find a seat at during the semester.

He stops two long strides from where she's sitting and drops his gaze down to her padd. "Excellent." The silence of the building is peculiar, almost oppressive without the rustle of other cadets searching the stacks or tapping away at their padds, or the clicking of comms as they send and receive texts. "I encountered Doctor Puri and he said you were here."

"Yeah I just talked to him," she says and then that same silence falls again.

She just watches him, tall and stiff in his instructor blacks, his eyes darting across her face and down to her padd again before he meets her gaze once more.

"May I join you?" he finally asks.

"Yes, sir," she answers and only then does he unclasp his hands from behind his back and pull out the chair across from her.

He motions to her padd and she lets him slide it towards him.

"You have compiled a considerable amount of work."

"I just started, really." She looks down at her padd, then back up at him to find him watching her. "I've been thinking about how to best organize what I have and I've never created an instruction module in a language before, so it's taking a while."

"If you would like, I will review what you done so far and provide feedback based upon my experience teaching various language courses."

She had half forgotten that he taught language tutorials, only having had him for Advanced Morphology. His suggestion brings to mind the Commander Spock of the past semester, quiet and formidable, but nonetheless helpful and more or less accessible, and she finds herself nodding.

"Thank you, that'd be great."

"This type of programming is typically not taught to communication track cadets until fourth year."

"Looking forward to it." She grimaces down at the padd and when she looks up again, he's watching her with that crease between his brows that she seems to draw out of him more often than not and his head tipped to the side. "I meant that I'm not."

"Not what?"

"Not looking forward to it."

His gaze narrows slightly before he returns his attention to the padd, scrolling through it quickly once more.

"Does this contain all three dialects?"

"Yes. Uh, sorry, sir, I just meant that I find computer programming daunting and it'll be a challenge for me when I take those courses."

"Why did you not simply say that?"

"I…" She swallows and tamps down the ghost of irritation his brusque question stirs in her. "That was just another way of articulating that."

"It obfuscated the meaning of your statement."

She nods slowly. Gaila's introduction to sarcasm had been to spend several months declaring in a long drawl how much she loved the way in which it conveyed the opposite meaning. Once she got over what she called a 'human tendency to just assume we all know what you mean when you won't just say it' she proved herself adept at using it. Too adept, really, and Nyota had more than once wished she had never introduced the concept.

"I'm sorry."

"It is no matter."

It is, obviously, or he wouldn't have said anything and she starts to apologize again, but then thinks better of it, unsure if he wouldn't find that equally as confusing. Instead she reminds herself, not for the first time, how awkward and out of place and probably illogical she would seem and feel if she was living on Vulcan and even if she had been there for years, how little she might understand a culture so vastly different from her own.

"It's not the most accessible rhetorical device," she finally says. "Especially not compared to the literal humor of Cardassian – which I've never understood but at least you can tell when they're joking – or the way that Trill and Tellarite each have such distinct tonal modulations for conveying different emotional effects."

He glances up at her, his eyes dark and sharp beneath those upswept brows.

"I have a request," he says abruptly, then pauses and looks at her padd again. "I did not ask if I am interrupting you, which it appears I am, nor if this is an appropriate time to speak with you."

He's sitting stiffly and it doesn't look like his back is even touching the back of his chair. She wonders if he always sits like that, inches between his body and anything that might look like he was relaxing against it, and if so why she never noticed that before.

"It's fine."

He still hesitates for a long moment before speaking, like he's waiting to see if she's going to retract her willingness to have him there.

"Very few of my acquaintances are inclined to be candid or honest with me," he starts and she nearly snorts in amusement, looking at his severe expression and achingly formal demeanor. "As first officer of the _Enterprise_ I am tasked with overseeing the entire crew and while that specifically includes the bridge officers and sciences staff, it remains a daunting task to undertake."

"Ok," she says slowly, unsure of where he's going with this.

"As you are well aware, the majority of Starfleet officers are human and Terran culture is often the predominant one onboard a ship. While this is less consequential while on duty due to Starfleet protocols that take into account a variety of cultural and interspecies compromises-" he hesitates then and damn if he doesn't sound a bit like he's babbling.

"Sir?"

"Your level of frankness, honesty, and forthrightness is quite rare. I wondered if I may ask for your assistance on a number of interpersonal questions I have in regards to some of my crewmates."

"Ah." She looks at him for a long moment, taking in the way he's still holding himself like he could bolt out of there any moment at the slightest provocation. She's a little shocked by his question and a lot curious. "I guess I can try, but I'm not certain exactly how much help I would be."

She's pretty sure that Starfleet has resources for that type of thing, though now that she thinks about it, Gaila has texted her in the middle of more than one class, or called her in the middle of the night for an explanation of baffling human behavior, like why a guy she was seeing thought it was appropriate to keep a feline in his apartment when it was clearly a barely domesticated wild animal, or the time a woman Gaila had met refused to have sex until Gaila took her socks off, which Nyota had eventually been forced to agree didn't actually interfere with the activities in question but still it was just… weird.

She just really, really hopes that none of the Commander's questions are along the vein of Gaila's. Cats, maybe ok. Standard sexual practices, no. Not him, not ever. If Vulcans truly don't date, the Commander can continue enjoying whatever type of monasterial life he's been logically pursuing so far.

Or not pursuing. Maybe dating is off the table but that doesn't necessarily meant that-

"I am mostly interested in understanding time spent out of work with colleagues," he says like he can guess she's quietly freaking out about whether or not he wants sex advice.

"Right. Great. So what, specifically, is the issue?"

"I have long avoided associating with humans outside of the bounds necessitated by my position," he starts.

"So you haven't you ever had a close relationship with a human?"

"No."

She nods slowly, considering the degree of isolation he must have endured to have that answer after four years at the Academy, plus however many years as a commissioned officer after he graduated. She wants to ask about that, but doesn't think she should exactly phrase it like that, not if she doesn't want him to dash out of there like he half looks like he wants to.

"Ok," she nods. "So you're fine working with humans, or fine enough, at least, but when you're not at work, we're… confusing? Baffling? Illogical?"

One eyebrow twitches. "Yes."

"And?" she prods.

"Many of the bridge officers, and more often Captain Pike, have repeatedly offered to engage me in social activities. As my earlier experience with you has shown, I do not possess the social skills nor the propensity to obtain them in order to successfully interact with humans in a social capacity."

"What types of things does he want to do with you? Mini-golf?"

"A diminutive form of golf?"

"It's…" she starts, then shakes her head. "Never mind. Are you're worried it's going to effect your position on the ship?"

"I am not worried," he says stiffly, visibly retreating inside himself until he's as austere and stern as ever.

"Sure."

"I am not, I simply wish to understand why humans seek to spend social time with work colleagues," he says and she can't help but think there's something in that bland tone that sounds a bit petulant. "It is logical to seek help when one does not understand a situation and that is why I am speaking of this to you."

He sounds as if he wishes that he could for once abandon logic and avoid this conversation all together, which she would be fine with since she's not exactly qualified to do more than guess. She contemplates telling him to go find a commissioned officer to get advice from. But then again, he sought her out specifically and he's willing to help her with her work on Romulan, so she gives it a try.

"Well, it's not like it's universal, plenty of people leave work and don't see each other afterwards. But on a ship?" She raises one shoulder towards her ear. "You're Pike's first officer."

"I am aware."

"No, well, yes, but, isn't there a certain need for you two to get along? Establish a rapport? Bond with each other? He probably doesn't feel like he knows you as well as he'd like to and that whatever you two do while you're at work isn't enough."

"He is aware that Vulcans do not consume alcohol and yet repeatedly asks me if I would wish to do so."

"I didn't say that he was good at trying to become friends with you. Have you suggested anything that you might want to do?"

"No."

"Do you actually want to spend time with him?"

"No."

"Do you dislike him?"

"No."

"What, uh, is the problem then?"

"I have a sufficiently constructive professional relationship with him and do not desire to spend my personal time in his company."

"Well…" she starts and bites back a sigh. "I'm not sure exactly what you want me to help you with, then."

"What would be the best way in which to convey that?"

"That you don't want to see him outside work?"

"Yes."

"Um." Nyota purses her lips, staring at the Commander. "Do you, uh, have the option to say that, sir?"

"The availability of my personal time was not listed in the job description."

"Sure, but… I think it's pretty commonly understood that socialization comes with the position."

He blinks and she presses her lips together, wanting to kick herself. Not commonly understood, then, and that was an assumption that she might not have wanted to make. 'Don't speculate about what someone from another culture or species might know or not know' is drilled into them in their comms training, and it's something Nyota finds she has to remind herself of when it comes to the Commander, which is made even more difficult with the amount of time he's spent on Earth and in the company of humans.

"I was unaware."

"I think – I mean I don't know, but I assume – that a lot of senior staff have personal relationships and Starfleet has the assumption that this is a necessary factor for ship wide cohesion and positive working relationships," she says slowly.

"Why do humans believe that time spent socializing will increase professional effectiveness?"

"Because it does. Or it can, at least." He just watches her blandly and she shrugs again. "I don't have any empirical studies, sir, but you could probably find them if you looked. But I guess it's kind of a foreign concept for you."

"Yes."

"And perhaps unarticulated as of yet."

"That is so." His brows draw together as he studies the table. "If my performance is exemplary, why does it matter how I spend my time outside of work?"

"But it's logical, right? I mean, for humans, not for Vulcans. How we interact with each other has repercussions for our work. We can put aside personal differences when we need to – or try," she says with a wry grin at him. "But we work together better when we know more about each other."

"Friendship is a requirement for admirable performance?"

"No. Yes. Affinity and understanding is maybe a better way to put it. You don't have to be best friends. But also, Pike probably wants to see some effort on your part and might view your reticence to get to know him as something that could carry over to your interactions with the rest of the crew."

"My duties in respect to the crew pertain to their schedules, performance evaluations, and the supervision of the ship's research."

"And interpersonal disputes?"

"Yes."

"So you need to be accessible to them, then. Someone they can talk to."

"I am aware."

"And that means cultivating that rapport and for humans that means personal time. Chatting over lunch, grabbing a cup of coffee, getting a drink after work. That kind of relationship isn't simply fostered through reviewing data sets and compiling reports. Or, it can be, but you're… you… you don't always come across as the most accessible for issues outside of work," she says with a grimace which she tries to wipe from her face as quickly as she can, but he's not looking at her so she doesn't think he notices.

"I do not understand why humans need to establish such a relationship in order to discuss such issues with me."

"Is it that you don't understand or that you don't agree?" she asks and he opens his mouth to answer before narrowing his eyes and snapping his mouth shut again. "The second one?"

"If that was a requirement of the position he should have either stated that or should not have hired me," he says severely and she thinks that probably only a Vulcan would be able to distance himself from such a prestigious position as first officer of the flagship if the parameters of the job weren't what he specifically and precisely expected. Or if those parameters were so completely and utterly baffling in the face of his own culture, where the notion of needing successful interpersonal relationships probably never entered the workplace, and why would they when everything was based not on emotion, but on logic.

She taps her stylus against her mouth, studying him for a long moment and thinking about how this would probably be a great case study for Interspecies Ethics – which she's pretty sure he teaches – with Pike's assumption that by taking the job the Commander knew he had to demonstrate some amount of willingness to be personally accessible and the Commander's inability to grasp exactly what humans need in order to feel comfortable around him.

Starfleet at its best, she thinks, with everyone fumbling along as they figure out how to work together.

"Look, isn't it great that he wanted you for that position? Rather than have two humans in charge of such a large crew? He's pretty much proving his own ineptitude in understanding interspecies relationships by inviting you out for a drink… and frankly, sir, you're proving your own reticence to work with humans by refusing." She shrugs and gives him a small grin. "Listen, I get called stubborn all the time, so I know what it's like, but maybe bring this up with him? And in the meantime, isn't it logical to perform your duties to the best of your abilities, even if you don't agree with them?"

He just stares at her stonily and she watches him in return until he blinks and looks away.

"Yes."

"I get it, you don't want to change. You want to act like yourself – like a Vulcan – and have people accept and respect that. And you haven't found that here, except maybe in Puri, and instead you're asked to capitulate and you don't want to have to make that compromise."

"You are not unperceptive."

"Not unperceptive and not unintelligent. Thanks, Commander."

"You are welcome," he says, so seriously that it threatens to make her smile, even though something in her chest is hurting for him.

She presses her lips together. "I'm sorry."

"You have taken no action that warrants an apology."

"No, I meant… " she starts, tapping her stylus on the edge of the table before realizing how annoying that is and putting it down. "So, uh, any big bonding opportunities with the crew coming up?"

He drops his gaze to examine the table.

"The Captain asked me to join him, a number of our colleagues, and the Ambassador for dinner and I declined. I believe, based upon his tone and his body language, he was displeased."

"You get a lot of dinner invitations," she tells him and he glances up at her again.

"I am not certain as to the average-"

"It was a joke. Sarcasm, actually, to be specific. Sorry. Again."

"I do not always understand the specifics of human humor."

"That's ok, it can be complicated," Nyota says, her mind full of times Gaila has not quite managed to get, or make a joke. "I just meant that Puri and the Captain both would like to have dinner with you. Oh, that's right, I don't think I told you that, Puri wanted us to come over."

"He mentioned that to me as well when I saw him outside," he says and then doesn't add anything else, so she doesn't try to come up with a reply, either. Instead, she fiddles with her stylus and listens to the heavy silence of the library.

"When's the dinner with Pike?" she finally asks when it's clear that they're not going to talk about Puri's invitation.

"Next Saturday."

"So is it not logical that you attend?" she asks and then immediately wishes she hadn't, not with the way two spots of green appear on his cheeks again and something in his expression darkens. She wonders at that, the rigidity of logic interacting with whatever so clearly simmers under that control of his, creeping through now and then and apparently informing some amount of the choices he's making, even if he's loath to admit it. She's certain that if she asks, he would have some reason for not going to the dinner, one which is well thought out and backed with enough reasoning that it can only be logical that he skip it.

In the time it takes her to start to formulate something to say to how stonily he's sitting after her comment, he's powered down the screen on her padd, risen, pushed his chair in, and tucked her padd under his arm.

"Good day, Cadet," he says. "Thank you for your assistance."

She just nods and starts gathering up her own things to go meet Gaila. He begins to walk away, then hesitates, and then just stands there and waits for her to finish packing up, which is a little strange but she's getting rather used to his peculiar mannerisms.

It's not until they're outside that she looks up at him and voices the thought that's been on her mind since they left her table.

"You don't have to help me with this," she says, gesturing to the padd he's holding.

"And yet you provided me assistance today."

"Yeah, but…" She licks her lips, then bites the inside of her cheek. She didn't really give him any help, just probably confirmed to him that he doesn't really have a choice in socializing with his colleagues if he wants to succeed in his position. "I just don't really understand the change of heart, sir."

"As I said, Cadet, very few are willing to be so honest with me."

"Oh." She squints out across the lawn in front of the library at a sole cadet walking across the grass, a contrast of reds and greens in the summer sunlight.

She glances down at his hands, then, and to her surprise, sees them white knuckled and tense.

He sees her looking and folds his hands behind his back, gripping the padd awkwardly to do so.

"I'll, uh, see you later, then," she says, wanting to look at the clear tension in his hands again but also not wanting to pry. Or, if she's honest with herself, very much wanting to pry but not thinking that she should.

"Cadet," he says but it doesn't sound like he's reminding himself to bid goodbye to her, more like he's about to say something and can't quite get it out without one of his long hesitations. She waits for whatever it is, staring out across the quad with him, both of their focus on a bird that's landed on the grass and is pecking around. "I was dishonest before when you asked if I had ever had a close relationship with a human. My mother is human."

She jerks her gaze from the bird to stare at him again, at the way his hands are still tight around each other and the slight jump in his jaw.

She tries to take all that in, trying to fit those new facts about him around what she knows of him and what she's come to know over their short acquaintance this summer, but he's so stiff and wooden that he seems anything but half-human in that moment.

Or maybe not. Under those pointed ears and slanted brows, and the height, lean build, and fluid grace his species is known for, there's an edge of emotion that he seems dangerously near. Maybe a full Vulcan would have been able to say that with complete equanimity and wouldn't be scrutinizing a bird in order to avoid looking at her, and maybe a full Vulcan would have been able to finish their conversation instead of abruptly ending it.

"I apologize," he says stiffly and she wonders if the apology is for his earlier falsehood, or if he isn't asking for her pardon for his human heritage.

"We were talking specifically about friendships," she says quickly, suddenly feeling the urge to reassure him. "Not family relationships, so what you said was hardly dishonest."

He nods and she's watching him so closely, suddenly captivated by the fact he's actually half human, that she notices the way something in his shoulders ease.

"I see." He opens his mouth like he's going to say something else and then closes it again.

"Well, thanks again for taking a look at all those materials on Romulan," she says, thinking he might like nothing better than to get away from her right then. What she really wants to do is quiz him about his mother and why he doesn't just ask her all these questions, and what type of relationship with her he has, and what his upbringing was like, and so many other things that have led him to be so clearly uncomfortable in the company of humans, but she doesn't want to push.

"Of course." He looks for a moment like he's going to speak again, and this time he does. "If you would like to continue discussing your paper, Cadet, I would be amenable. You were correct when you first approached me this summer that it is logical to cultivate talent among cadets who have the makings of excellent officers."

"Aren't you busy? With the Ambassador?"

"I have found that she alternates between not answering my communications and wasting my time. Currently, we are in the former phase, so I find myself quite at my leisure."

"She's kind of… well, with all due respect, she's kind of a pain."

"If I was permitted by my culture or my duties to agree with that sentiment, it is likely that I would." She's so confused as to whether or not he meant that to be funny, and therefore is caught between smiling and staring at him, that she's still processing his statement when he speaks again. "There is no other trade necessary on your end. Logic is enough."

"Still," she says. She digs at the ground with her toe. Logic might be enough for him, but it hardly is for her. "That dinner is at the end of next week?"

"That is what I said."

Leave it alone, she tells herself. Tell him goodbye, set a time to meet up later, let him go his way and let Gaila be thrilled with a girl's night next Saturday.

But thinking of Gaila just reminds Nyota of the dozens of times her roommate, as gregarious as she is, has found herself on the edge of a gathering of humans as everyone laughs about some pop culture reference, or frustrated by her ability to connect with some of their classmates when she can't always understand what's going on, and even now, years after they started at the Academy, the nights Gaila sometimes spends in their room watching a movie, a bit too quiet and withdrawn to be anything but homesick and lonely.

And whatever having a human mother on Vulcan was like for the Commander, it obviously didn't engender a complete comfort with human customs. She doesn't know what that means for him, since he certainly wouldn't be the first person she met who willfully disregarded their parents teachings, nor does having human genetics and exposure to some amount of Terran norms during his upbringing mean an automatic familiarity with Earth, even with how long he's served in Starfleet.

A professional dinner with a boss and colleagues, not to mention a visiting dignitary, isn't exactly the simplest of social situations, especially for someone who's willfully chosen to be so Vulcan, and so instead of saying goodbye, she says, "I'll go. With you. If you want. If it'd be helpful for you."

He looks at her, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

"It is not necessary that you-"

"I said I'd go."

Nothing about the way he holds himself, nor the expression on his face changes and yet something about him relaxes.

"Very well."

"And maybe when you're done looking at what I have so far on Romulan, we can meet up…" She wants to kick herself or groan out loud at repeatedly getting herself into these situations where she's spending time with him, but she can't seem to help herself. And anyway, she's a Starfleet officer – or training to be one – and she might as well get used to personal sacrifices in the name of helping someone else. "And if you have other questions or want to talk about Pike more, I can help."

"Thank you," he says as seriously and stern as ever. "I am free tomorrow and will have had an opportunity to review your work by then."

"Great."

He does that thing again where he gets three paces from her before turning to say goodbye.

"See you tomorrow, then, sir," she replies and when he's gone, she pulls out her comm to call Gaila. "I'm done," she tells her when she answers. "What's the plan?"

"Drop your padd off at the dorm and get to the Warp and Coil as soon as you can. Happy hour just started and I'm going to order you something so it's ready when you get here."

"Order it now," Nyota suggests. "I don't have to go by our room."

"No padd?" Gaila asks, her excitement clear, even over the clamor of the bar in the background. "Did you throw it out finally? Yes!"

"No, long story. And get lots of drinks. Multiple drinks. All of the drinks."

"Done," Gaila agrees. "This is the best day ever."

"It's certainly an interesting one," Nyota agrees, casting one last look at where the Commander is still in sight, a tall, lean figure in black against the backdrop of the Academy, before she jogs down the library's steps and heads to find Gaila.

…

_Thank you for all the enthusiasm over this story! It's a wacky, crazy road for these two and not a normal premise for them and therefore I just want to say that all the reviews and PMs are awesome and helpful and really make a difference as I continue tweak this and that as I edit the upcoming chapters. I've never written something so long that has these two at such odds and so unfamiliar with each other. it's much harder than a more simple romance where they understand the other off the bat and your comments help me navigate that path. You can all have handfuls of Gaila's reserved-for-enthusiasm-for-fake-dating popcorn!_


	7. Chapter 7

"Mini golf is a recreational sport which approximates the more standard form of the game with smaller putting greens and clubs," the Commander says as he pulls the chair out across from her. She moves three padds and a filmplast out of his way so that he has room for his own materials, which include the padd she lent him yesterday to look at. He continues without pausing, even as he neatly lines up his stylus along the edge of his padd, what is probably a perfect centimeter of space between them. "Often the courses are designed with themes in mind, such as 18th century pirates or long extinct dinosaurs, and it has proven a popular activity among families with young children."

"Uh. Yes, that's right."

"Curious. Are you proficient in this particular sport?"

"I got a hole in one, once."

"Is that indicative of mastery?"

"I did it by accident. But it was on the one with a windmill, so there's that."

"My research did not mention windmills in concurrence with this activity. Are they used to power some aspect of the course?"

"No, they're-" She holds her hand about two feet above the floor. "Small."

"Why function do they serve?"

"They… they spin? The arms? And make it harder to hit the ball through."

"Through what?"

"Through the windmill."

"They are permeable?"

"There's like a-" she cups her hands above the table, moving them back and forth as she demonstrates a tunnel. "In the middle of it and you want to get the ball through there."

"Why?"

"To get it in the hole."

"So that one can proceed to the next level."

"Yes, exactly. They're not called levels, but yes that's the general idea."

"What is the correct term?"

"Hole."

"I understand that the object is to use the club to direct the ball into the hole."

"No, but it's also the word used for each discrete… level."

His brows draw together as he watches her. "Your language is imprecise."

She frowns right back at him.

"If you grew up with a human mother, you were very likely raised bilingual in Vulcan and Standard."

"That is correct."

"It's your language too, then," she says.

He starts to respond, pauses, then pushes the padd of hers he had across the table towards her.

"You incorrectly coded your list of Romulan conjunctions." She just looks at him for a long time without reaching for the padd. He looks down at it and then back up at her, his head tipping to the side. "Was that not acceptable to tell you?"

"It's fine. I have no doubt I did it wrong, that's why you were looking at it," she replies, finally, tamping down the irritation that threatens to rush through her from his swift turnaround. Getting mad at him isn't going to get her anywhere. "What exactly was the issue?"

His brows draw together so that familiar furrow forms between them and when he finally speaks again to explain her error, his voice is even and measured, soft almost, in a way.

She quickly loses time reading over his rather exacting comments on the language tutorial and it's not until later that she realizes she's starving and falling asleep at the same time. She tries to tamp down on the urge to stretch and shift in her chair after sitting still for so long, but finds she can't, what with how restless she is now that she's actually thought about how long they've been working.

"I might need a break," she eventually says, even though she's loath to admit any frailty in the face of his seemingly unending endurance.

He just nods and doesn't speak and doesn't look up from the half dozens padds they've spread out across the table.

She crosses to the replicator bank set into the wall, thinking that while the student union doesn't boast the same assortment of refreshments as if they had chosen to meet in the mess hall, at least they're not in the library. She orders up a coffee and an apple, which is never as good replicated as they are the handful of times throughout the year the Academy gets fresh ones, but it's satisfyingly crunchy.

She wanders along the edge of the room, glancing around at the empty tables that are normally full of cadets, and perusing the various flyers that are still on display from the end of spring semester. There's one for the Academy Chorale, which she thought about joining once, and one for the Xenolinguistics Club, which a number of her friends are in, but she has never quite found time for.

She wishes some of these things would meet over the summer, but so many cadets are pursuing internships off-world or are serving as acting ensigns on starships that she knows there's really no point.

And just thinking of the various interesting things all of her classmates are up to gives rise to a certain annoyance with herself. She should have just applied for something, found herself on some planet somewhere studying this or that, or in a communications bay on the _Farragut_ or _Hood_. But no, she wanted to do her paper and look where it got her, she thinks despondently as she chews angrily at her apple.

She hears the tap of boots and turns, expecting to see the Commander coming after her, ready to keep working.

Instead, it's Dean Stoyer and Nyota reflexively smooths her uniform skirt and stands up straighter.

"Cadet," the Dean nods.

"Sir," Nyota responds, as crisp as she can.

Stoyer is well known and well respected and well feared among cadets, a near legendary figure with the sole purpose of keeping students in line for their four years at the Academy. Every year, Stoyer addresses the student body, and every year reminds them that being called into her office as a result of misbehavior is the absolute last thing any of them want to endure, so they had better memorize and obey all Academy and Starfleet regulations. She's pretty sure Kirk has skirted very, very close to such a meeting with the Dean and probably only luck, or McCoy hauling him out of whatever trouble he had gotten himself into, had saved him.

And beyond Stoyer's more than intimidating presence, the woman is a genius. An incredibly accomplished genius. Nyota's read a handful of her papers and even though Stoyer focuses almost exclusively on studying organizational behavior and leadership, which is hardly Nyota's discipline, the lines of reasoning and thoroughly well researched evidence is enough that Nyota would like nothing more than to someday produce a body of work that emulates what Stoyer's done in her career. Her short career, at that, since she can't be more than forty and seeing the Dean walk quickly across the empty hall of the student union, Nyota is seized, as she nearly always is whenever she sees Stoyer, with the urge to run after her and ask how she's managed to do it all.

Nyota's formulating something, anything, to say to her, hopefully something impressive and so incredibly outstanding that she'll stick out among the myriad of cadets who routinely try to impress Stoyer, when to Nyota's shock and excitement she approaches her and the Commander's table.

And even more surprising, instead of rising to attention, the Commander greets the older woman with the _ta'al_, which she returns.

"Thought I'd find you here," Stoyer says, pulling up a third chair and sitting in it without preamble. "Sorry about all the construction in the xenolinguistics building. Of course, if you would just transfer to Computer Sciences full time, this could all be avoided."

The Dean is very nearly smiling, even at the Commander's stern look in response to her comment.

"Perhaps if Lieutenant Commander Calder had properly informed the department's faculty of such a disruption this summer-" he starts and Stoyer just laughs.

"Poor Calder, he'll never make it up to you after that problem with the heat in your office last winter."

"It would be illogical to have a continued issue with him over such an occurrence."

"And yet," Stoyer smiles. "Reduced to working in the student union. You know, I think he might have done this to you on purpose this summer."

"That is hardly professional," he says and Stoyer laughs again and then, to Nyota's surprise, looks over at her. Nyota focuses on unsticking her feet from the floor and approaching the table.

She sets her coffee down gingerly, figuring that the very last thing she needs to do is to end up dumping it all over the table, or even worse the Dean, and then is left with her apple core which is suddenly much more of a problem than if it had just been her and the Commander.

She only has one napkin and freezes when Stoyer holds out her hand to shake, torn between wiping off her hand and somehow squirreling away the remainder of the fruit. She settles for cleaning her fingers and then grasps the Dean's hand with what she hopes is a firm and professional handshake.

"You're Cadet Uhura," Stoyer says and Nyota nods, pulling her chair back and trying to keep it from scraping obnoxiously over the floor. She perches on the very edge of it and folds her hands in her lap. She has no idea how the Dean knows who she is and hopes it really, really has nothing to do with the fact that through Gaila, she and Kirk have spent a fair amount of time together over the last year.

"Yes, sir, I am. It's nice to meet you."

"I've heard about your work in Carrick's class. He was very impressed with your final paper."

Nyota's surprised and tries not to let it show too much, smoothing her skirt again for something to do with her hands. "Thank you, sir."

"Not to mention the Commander here singing your praises all of last semester," Stoyer says, casting a smile over at him, who just blinks at her.

"That is hardly accurate."

"I'm not so sure."

Stoyer reaches for the padd in front of the Commander, scrolling through the lines of programming he just finished inputting and Nyota takes the opportunity to remind herself to actually take a deep breath.

"The Cadet is creating a tutorial for Romulan," he explains.

"You were just saying the other day that we should reconsider our stance on teaching Romulan, Spock," Stoyer says quietly, still perusing their work and Nyota looks over at the Commander, surprised.

"It is logical."

"Well, we'll bear that in mind. Excellent work on this, you two. When will it be done? In time for next semester, I hope?"

"It can be," he answers, taking the padd back when she holds it out to him. He looks over at Nyota and she realizes he's glancing at her to confirm that it really can be ready by then.

"Definitely," she agrees, excitement rising in her from the fact that she's working on something Stoyer's so interested in.

"You have enough time, what with the Ambassador? I hear she's a barrel of laughs."

"She is not."

Stoyer chuckles, then visibly schools herself as she quickly glances around the empty room.

"I have no official opinion, of course," she says quickly, then shoots Nyota a knowing grin.

"Of course," the Commander echoes. "She has recently taken the tactic of simply refusing to speak with me, so I have quite a bit of freedom in my schedule."

"Oh, that must be so nice for you two," Stoyer says and Nyota doesn't quite know what to make of that.

"We've had plenty of time to work on all this," she finally responds.

"I can see what the Commander likes about you," Stoyer says with another quick grin. "You're bringing Uhura to that big dinner next week, right Spock?"

"She is planning to attend," he answers, his dark eyes cutting over to her.

"Wonderful. And when are you two coming over to eat with just the two of us? You promised, Spock."

"It may not be possible to-" he says as he glances at Nyota again. She just shakes her head at him, confused.

"Spock. Don't make me make it an order."

"You are hardly able to order either of us to attend a meal at your house."

"Fine," Stoyer says, smoothly turning from him to speak directly to Nyota. "The Commander was telling me the other day about a paper you're working on with him. It just sounds _fascinating_," the Dean continues and amid all the confusion of the conversation, Nyota feels that excitement rise in her again. "I'm always so very interested as to what our students pursue academically. Can I interest you in coming to my house for dinner to discuss your work and perhaps you can convince your research advisor to attend as well?"

"I…" Nyota starts, risking a glance at the Commander, who is just staring blandly at the Dean. Nyota has no real idea what's going on, or why he promised to have dinner with Stoyer, or how to explain he's actually her former research advisor due to extenuating circumstances, but there is really zero chance she's going to give up an opportunity to have face time with a woman like Stoyer so he will just have to deal with that. "Absolutely, sir."

"I like you," Stoyer smiles. "And call me Arlene, please."

"Arlene," Nyota echoes, the name rolling around in her memory.

"That's settled, I'll let Puri know that you're definitely coming, no excuses this time, so he can stop bugging you about it, Spock," Stoyer says, rising from her chair and pushing it in. Puri, Nyota thinks, a number of things falling into place. Arlene, Doctor Puri's wife. Arlene Stoyer, she realizes from seeing the name dozens of times, her brain catching up all at once. "And we'll see you at dinner with Pike and everyone on Saturday."

She leaves after exchanging the _ta'al_ with the Commander once more, the gesture more of a wave than how achingly formal Nyota has normally seen it.

"That's Dean Stoyer," Nyota says quietly.

"Obviously."

"You know Dean Stoyer?"

"That should have been apparent, Cadet."

"Wow. She's incredible." He's just looking at her and Nyota feels herself flush. "I'm just… wait. I thought you said you weren't friends with any humans."

"We are not friends."

Nyota frowns at the door Stoyer just left through. "Are you sure?"

He hesitates. "Yes."

She wants to ask him if he actually understands the definition of friendship, but won't let herself because it just seems too rude. Instead she glances at the door the Dean just disappeared through and asks, "How long have you known her?"

"She was my and Puri's Interspecies Ethics instructor our first semester at the Academy."

"And that's how they met?"

"Yes."

"And then they started dating?"

"Yes, at the conclusion of the semester."

"Oh, that's so sweet," Nyota says with a smile. "How long have they been married?"

"Three years, one month and four days."

"That must have been right after you both graduated?" she asks.

"Yes, directly."

Three years is not a lot of time in a Starfleet career, so Nyota can only imagine the type of officer both he and Puri are to already be tapped for senior positions on the _Enterprise_.

"Is she going to be on the _Enterprise_?" Nyota asks. "When you all leave for your mission after construction is complete?"

"Her contract with the Academy lasts three more years, and with construction slated to be completed in two, it is likely that there will be some amount of time that she will remain on Earth while the Doctor is serving aboard the ship."

"I never really thought of that but I guess that's pretty common," Nyota says. It's no wonder the Ambassador has such trouble finding officers who are in a relationship, if couples are forced to endure long separations due to different postings.

"If she so chooses, she will be able to request an assignment on board and both due to her competency as an officer as well as their marriage, it is unlikely it would be denied."

"Don't you get to decide as Pike's XO?" Nyota asks.

He nods, then quickly clarifies. "It would be illogical, however, to approve such a posting due to any personal relationship that exists between myself and Doctor Puri or Dean Stoyer."

"No, I know, I'm sure you wouldn't do that," Nyota says just as quick. After the little she's gotten to know the Commander, the last thing she can imagine him doing is playing favorites. Rather, she thinks, probably tipping the balance so far to the other side that he'd deny such a posting rather than risk it seeming that he assigned the Dean to the _Enterprise_ simply because he knows her.

She's about to ask exactly what position Stoyer would be eligible to transfer into when her comm buzzes.

"My friend," she explains when she sees Gaila's ID on the screen.

"I am available continue our work tomorrow if you are otherwise unoccupied," Spock says as she scrolls through the text.

"We don't have to, this isn't something I need to rush to."

"You are exhibiting signs that your endurance for this project may be at an end without a longer break."

"I'm fine," she says stiffly.

"You consumed a piece of fruit and a caffeinated beverage, and we just finished working for five hours and thirty two minutes with no interruption. You have exceeded normal human endurance for such focused activity by-"

"That doesn't mean I can't-" she starts, then forces herself to take a deep breath. Only when she's slowly let it out does she let herself speak again. She has a headache that's threatening behind her eyes at the thought of more work and as she imagines more hours spent over a padd, it just makes it worse. "Thank you for thinking of me. Tomorrow would be good. I'll finish coming up with some basic, introductory phrases this afternoon, though, and send them to you."

"That would be adequate."

"Look, do you want me to just stay and work?"

"I just said that you working on your own would be adequate."

"That's not exactly an enthusiastic response."

"Suitable," he says. "Satisfactory."

"Fine."

"Cadet-"

"No, it's great. I'll see you tomorrow." She stacks her padds and gets them into her bag before she remembers that she has a question she meant to ask him. "Where's that dinner by the way, on Saturday? I need to figure out what I'm going to wear."

"Your dress uniform."

"No, I can't-" she takes another deep breath. She doesn't have one yet, since they're not issued to cadets, and it's just too hard to explain to him that often women don't wear them even if they have them, not when there's an option to wear something more fun. "Where is it?"

"Jardinière," he answers and her stomach starts to drop.

"No."

"Yes," he says carefully, in that way he has when she's being more bafflingly human than normal.

"Really?"

"That is the restaurant that the Captain has chosen. You are displaying signs of agitation and distress," he says calmly, nodding to where her fingers are tight around the back of her chair. She lets go of it, not even realizing she was grabbing it. "Explain."

"Say the name of the restaurant again," she tells him and she drops her hand from where she's rubbing at the bridge of her nose in time to see what looks very close to a sigh before his expression is blank once again.

"Jardinière."

"Jardinière. Of course, visiting Ambassador and all." She lets herself grimace, cursing the fact she didn't quite think through her offer to go with him.

He looks at her for a long moment. "I do not understand your reticence. I believe it is a quite popular dining establishment." She drags her toe across the floor and crosses her arms. When she doesn't answer, or uncross her arms, he says, softer, "I would like to understand."

"Don't worry about it," she says lightly, stepping back from him.

She gives him a wave and hitches her bag up on her shoulder, turning to walk quickly towards the door.

Damn, she thinks when she hears his footsteps follow her through the door and down the hall.

He walks beside her as she finally reaches the main exit of the student union and she can feel his eyes on her before she finally stops, spins on her heel, and fixes him with a stare.

"What."

"I believe, based upon your reaction, it is the particular restaurant to which you object, not the notion of dining with myself, my colleagues, nor the Ambassador."

"I knew you were better at reading humans than you let on," she mutters, dragging the strap of her bag up her shoulder again.

"What, specifically, is the issue?"

She presses her lips together and tries to calculate the odds that he'll figure it out even without her telling him. High, she thinks. Incredibly, annoyingly good odds that he'll put two and two together and probably just offer to…

"I can't afford it," she forces herself to tell him, making herself look at him, and not glance away like she wants to. "I mean, I can and I will since I said I'd go but I don't have the salary that you all do, obviously, and that restaurant… It's nice. Really nice. And all fresh ingredients? Nothing replicated? Not on a cadet budget. And no," she says sharply, when he opens his mouth to speak. "No way. Don't even think about it."

"Is it not customary for me to extend the offer of-"

"No. I mean, yes, sure, humans buy each other dinner all the time. But no. Thank you, and I appreciate the offer, but I really can't accept it. I'll just… figure it out."

It's so unnerving, sometimes, the way he just looks at her, dark eyes boring into her like he's trying to figure her out. She shifts under his gaze, fiddling with the strap of her bag until she makes herself stop.

"Your culture is very different than mine," he finally says and she huffs out a laugh.

"Yeah, that's been apparent since I met you."

"It is just credits."

"Yeah, but it's…" she says, her words trailing off and she resorts to a vague wave, the type of which he probably hates from humans.

"It is what?"

"It's… complicated."

"Complicated," he repeats. "You are not required to attend the dinner, Cadet."

"It will not be the first I order water and an appetizer, Commander."

An appetizer that could probably pay for most of her books for the next semester. But it's fine, really, because it's not like the olden days when she would have actually had to pay to go to school, and even the costs she incurs as a student are covered by the stipend all students in the Federation receive. She wasn't necessarily planning on paying for such an expensive meal, but what she's paid to attend the Academy is more than enough and she'll just beg off the next time Gaila wants to go for drinks. Or next two times. Or three.

"Cadet…"

"Let me guess, it's an emotional response to refuse to let someone else pay for your meal, and the only logical course of action is to accept goodwill when it is offered."

"Yes."

"What a wonderful society you grew up in."

"In many ways it was."

"Human's emotional decisions must be baffling."

"Often."

"Well that's just great," she sighs, folding her arms across her chest again.

"You are being sarcastic."

"Yes," she nods, impressed despite herself at his ability to recognize that.

"I did not intend to upset you," he says and his tone is as soft as it's ever been.

"It's fine."

He pauses for a moment, then takes a breath, his head tipping to the side as he says, "Perhaps you would consider-"

"Are you going to leave it alone or are you going to just keep trying to convince me with logical argument after logical argument?"

That crease forms between his slanted brows, his mouth slightly parted as he considers her words.

"The latter," he finally says.

"Of course. Of course you are."

"I do not understand-

"You know what? Ok. Fine. Great. Buy me dinner," she says even as she promises herself that she is never, ever going to accept a dinner invitation from this man again without knowing the exact parameters of it. "Enjoy the logic of the situation. It'll be wonderful."

"You are accepting my offer and yet you appear to remain upset."

"Human incongruity. Paradox. Contradiction, what have you."

"Fascinating."

"It'll be less fascinating if I order the steak," she mutters, and then sighs when a furrow deepens between his brows and he frowns. "Joke."

"Ah."

They stand there and she squints across the quad, watching a group of officers in instructor blacks climb the stairs to T'Elah Hall and disappear inside.

It just reminds her of how empty the Academy seems, how instead of the bustle of students and professors during the semester, over summer its very nearly uninhabited. That earlier frustration with herself for staying on campus comes back and she wishes for the second time that day that she was off on some adventure.

But she's not off exploring new worlds, no matter how much she would like to and how good a choice that would have been for her career. Instead, working on the Romulan language module is interesting enough and even though it feels a bit lackluster compared to what else she could be doing, she makes herself focus on the fact that Stoyer seemed enthusiastic about it.

But her paper's even better, not lackluster at all. It's actually still an exciting topic to her and Stoyer heard about it from the Commander and liked it. And, beyond that, the Commander's still standing right in front of her and he kind of drives her nuts, but she also already agreed to have dinner with him and all his co-workers…

She glances up at him, considering.

"So after meeting Dean Stoyer-"

"Arlene."

"Yes," she says, still trying to think of Stoyer as someone who would have a first name and of the Commander as someone who would use it. "Well, you said the other day that you might still be willing to meet about my paper?"

"I did say that."

"And, uh, that offer's still open?"

"Yes."

She inwardly groans, not quite believing what she's about to say, but just sitting with Stoyer for a few minutes brought back Nyota's urge to keep working until she can have the type of resume the other woman has. Getting there was never going to be easy, and this seems like a small enough price to pay for adding not just the Romulan tutorial to her resume, but maybe her paper as well.

And he's really not that bad. Most of the time.

And even when he is, he's trying, and that's something.

"I'm not in the habit of receiving favors I don't return and like any member of Starfleet," she tells him even though she can't quite believe she's doing this. With him. Again. "I have a vested interest in our new flagship's construction."

"You are suggesting reprising our earlier arrangement," he states, bland as ever.

"Only if you want to."

His eyes trace over her face for a long moment before it's his turn to look out across the quad.

"After considering the change in the Ambassador's behavior towards me since the last time you and I spoke, I find myself rather more willing to consider the salience of it. However I do not believe I have the necessary interpersonal skills to successfully carry out such a plan."

She waves that off, the thought of her paper already burning brighter and brighter in her mind and sufficiently pushing out the lingering awkwardness and apprehension resuming their deal stirs in her.

"I can help you, tell you what to do."

"That would be essential." He pauses, then, looking down at her for a moment. "Beyond that, you will have continue to be honest with me so that we do not encounter further misunderstandings between us."

"And you will continue to meet me halfway in interspecies compromises."

"Yes."

"And look, if we do this, we're going to do it right this time."

"Pardon?"

"As in actually get to know each other, make a bit of an effort," she says, even though she's willingly resigning herself to spending even more time with him to do so. But there's no point in doing this and it not working, and she doesn't see any other choice. It's probably logical, or something.

"Is that necessary?"

"Do you want the Ambassador to point out that the nicest thing you've ever said about me is that I'm 'not unintelligent' in front of your boss, who's counting on you to get those crystals?"

"That is high praise for a Vulcan."

"Still not a Vulcan," she says, pointing to herself. "Sorry."

He presses his lips together before letting out a quiet breath in a way that might just have been a sigh.

"What do you propose?"

"I'll think of something." She allows herself a small smile. "I got you those schematics the first time we did this, dilithium crystals can't be that hard."

"You truly believe this will work?"

"I don't know, but you're frankly not getting very far on your own." He looks like he doesn't want to agree but can't quite bring himself to argue with that fact. That just makes her smile wider, which finally softens his own expression. "Let's try this again, Commander. Round two of pretending to date to achieve significant, professional goals."


	8. Chapter 8

"No uniform," Nyota says and the comm is stonily silent in her hand. She pointedly doesn't look at Gaila shaking with silent laughter on her bed.

"Explain," the Commander finally says, his voice curt.

"The point is to act like you're making an effort, not like meeting me is the last item on your to-do list for the day." There's another silence and she sighs. "It is, isn't it?"

"It is not a physical list as I am perfectly capable of remembering-"

"No uniform," she repeats.

"I do not understand."

"It'll seem like you're completely uncommitted."

"I was under the impression that a lack of commitment was one of the things we had in common about this arrangement," he says, that same dry tone coloring his voice in a way she's beginning to think is his version of teasing. It's cute, in it's own way. Also, really annoying.

"Appear committed," she sighs. "If we really want to convince the Ambassador about all of this so that you can get your crystals, and if she is really so invested in you dating someone then she will have researched what that means. And if Vulcans don't date, and I'm human, it's only logical that she then research Terran customs. And therefore-"

"I will wear something other than my uniform," he interrupts, then pauses. "I apologize for-"

"It's fine," she sighs. "And look, you have to tell Captain Pike. Or get Puri to tell him."

"I do not."

"You do. What if the Ambassador asks him about us and he has no idea? You need Pike's corroboration for this whole thing to work."

"He will find out at dinner on Saturday."

"Tell him before then, you still have a couple days," she urges. "First, he'll appreciate you sharing something like that if he really is on a campaign to befriend you."

"He is not."

"Second," she continues, ignoring him. "It's just going to be a lot less awkward for everyone if Pike isn't shocked that you're bringing someone. Really, if you want the Ambassador to believe this between us all of your colleagues should know, but let's start with Pike."

He's silent again for a long time and Nyota tries to resist sighing again, knowing he's turning all of this over in that brain of his, probably every single possible scenario and all likely outcomes he can think of.

"I do not wish to tell him I am in a committed relationship, nor do I think he would be much impressed with the knowledge of a farcical one," he finally says and she wishes that he was just willing to lie since it would make this whole thing so much easier. Of course she would end up in this situation with someone who actually has morals and a sense of right and wrong.

"I think he'd think it was hilarious, if my roommate is any indication," Nyota says, shaking her head at Gaila, who is twirling a curl around her finger and grinning. "Tell him you asked me out to dinner for tomorrow night. That's all you need to say."

"I have no current plans to ask you- oh."

"We need to get to know each other if this is really going to work," she explains. "And it would be good to honestly be able to say that we'd seen each other for something other than work recently."

He's silent again, then, even and measured and cool, asks, "Would you like to eat dinner together tomorrow night, Cadet Uhura?"

"Nyota."

"Pardon?"

"Would you like to have dinner together tomorrow night, Nyota? Just say that. And then tell Pike you asked me that and that I said yes."

He's silent again for so long she wants to shake her comm in frustration. Or him, if he were there. Which he's not, which is a good thing because Gaila's laughing again.

"I was unaware it was appropriate to use your given name," he eventually says.

"Yeah, it's whatever, it's fine. I mean, if you were really my… if we were actually seeing each other, that's what you would call me," she sighs. Gaila's the only person at the Academy who calls her anything other than 'Uhura' or 'Cadet' and it feels strange to to encourage anything else. And especially with someone like the Commander, although she hardly thinks he'd be the one to finally reveal it to Kirk, a happenstance she's all too concerned with preventing.

"Ah." She glares down at her comm in the silence that follows, thinking she really has to set a time limit to these conversations if she's going to get any work done tonight. "Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night, Nyota?"

It's… weird to hear him say it. Not bad weird, just… weird.

"Yes. There, see? Easy," she says quickly, trying to push the strangeness of the moment away. "Go tell Pike and I'll send you my newest outline for my paper."

"Very well." He pauses again and she tries not to roll her eyes.

"Goodnight," she says when he still doesn't speak for another long moment.

"Goodnight, Nyota," he says and she snaps her comm closed and glares at Gaila again.

"What."

"You, him. Your paper. Pike. Everything. Everybody." Gaila laughs so hard she actually snorts, which only makes her laugh harder. "You two are terrible at this. It's so amazing."

"We are not," Nyota says, crossing her arms. "We're fine."

"You haven't gone on a date since, oh I can't even remember when. Not even the guy in the bar last spring – he was hot by the way - but the other guy. The short one-"

"-He wasn't that short-"

"-And the Commander obviously has zero moves-"

"-He's Vulcan, Gaila, they don't do this sort of stuff, you know that. He's completely out of his element."

Gaila sits straight up. "You like him."

"I do not _like_ him, Gaila. The man is friends with Dean Stoyer and if I have anything to do about it, he's going to end up friends with Captain Pike. If everything works out, I will have gotten a published paper, experience programming language tutorials, and the kind of networking most cadets can only dream of out of this summer. I just have to deal with him to actually achieve all of that, which is admittedly less than ideal."

"All those things just make him your perfect boyfriend," Gaila grins, settling back against her pillows.

"Gaila, he is the last thing from a perfect boyfriend."

Those words echo in her mind, repeatedly, when she meets him for dinner the next evening.

"I do not understand the purpose of meeting for dinner," he states without bothering to greet her. "Do you not wish to be working on your project?"

"Yes. I do. But this isn't going to work without some dedication on our parts and if we're going to do it, we're going to do it right this time and really get to know each other. So well, in fact, that the Ambassador is going to be so convinced that we're in love that she starts ordering up suitcases of dilithium crystals."

"You realize that the number of crystals needed is only-"

"Where do you want to eat?" she asks, cutting him off.

He presses his lips together and gives her what she assumes is the Vulcan equivalent of a long suffering look. Mostly it's just blank and stern.

"I often dine in the mess hall and at the faculty club."

"That's it?" she asks.

"Or my apartment or office. It is rare that I eat at a restaurant."

"Right," she says slowly, since the last thing she wants is to be alone with him in his quarters. "Well. Any place you've wanted to try?"

"No."

"Any place you have tried and want to go back to?"

"No."

"What kind of food do you like?"

"I enjoy a variety of cuisines."

"I'm starting to see why women in the department would walk up to you, talk for a minute or two, and just walk away sighing."

"I wondered that as well."

She nearly groans and takes a moment to push her hair out of her face, smoothing it back behind her ears. She had left it down for their ostensible date and borrowed a pair of heels from Gaila so that she wouldn't feel as damn short next to him as she usually does in her uniform boots. The trade off is that she doesn't really want to walk that far and the idea of dragging out the evening even longer by taking a bus somewhere is not overly appealing, so wherever they choose had better be close by.

"Where would you take me if you wanted to impress me? Or if you were trying to guess what I might like?" she asks finally and the question seems to stymie him.

"I am not attempting to impress you, nor do I have any evidence as to what you might wish to eat. You consume a varied diet of most Terran food groups but that does not provide sufficient insight into your dining preferences." He pauses, that familiar crease appearing between his brows. "What would you do in such a situation?"

"Uh, suggest somewhere with vegetarian dishes? None of the seafood places in the Marina District, or steakhouses. Or… oh, I know! What about that Vulcan restaurant? The one by HQ? Is that good?"

If she didn't know better, she would swear he looks surprised. "You wish to eat at a Vulcan establishment?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Because the dishes are ill suited to human consumption and you would find very few palatable or pleasing."

"Oh. I didn't know that." Silence falls between them again until she purses her lips and sighs through her nose. "Well, how bad can it be?"

He raises an eyebrow in a way that seems to be the Vulcan equivalent of answering 'very' but finally nods.

HQ isn't that far from the Academy, so she's walked past the restaurant a half dozen times but has never thought to actually go in, and has never really thought about what might be on the other side of the door. It's like leaving San Francisco completely behind. Everything is slightly off, the way the tables are arranged, the fact that there doesn't seem to be a host, the strains of _ka'athrya_ music playing softly instead of something Terran, and the way the room is so hot that she quite nearly feels like she just walked into a different planet all together. The décor is all reds and tans and oranges and the light is different, slightly more golden and rust colored so that she has to blink a couple times before her eyes adjust. The entire room also smells fantastic, rich spices and a scent that seems very near a curry, and something else that reminds her quite a bit of a dish her grandmother used to make.

The blast of heat makes her wish she had worn something other than a sweater over her dress but it's basically law in San Francisco that you should dress in layers and summer or not, it's not the warmest city. Even so, the dry heat of the room makes her want to take it off, but she can't remember a single instance she's even seen a Vulcan covered in less than head to toe robes, so she leaves it buttoned even though bare shoulders and only the thin straps of her dress would feel so much better.

She casts a glance at the Commander's slacks and sweater and wonders if he wouldn't have worn something else entirely if he had thought they would be eating there.

She's debating whether or not that's too personal to ask him when he starts walking into the main room of the restaurant without preamble.

"We can just sit down?"

"There is no need to be shown to a table when it is clear which ones are available," he answers.

The table is nearly identical to how it would be set in a Terran restaurant and she wonders at the similarities. She's on the verge of asking about it, whether or not it's something adopted from the restaurant being on Earth or if there isn't some amount of cultural convergent evolution that resulted in dining establishments with such similarities, when she's distracted by the silverware. It's bigger and heftier than a Terran fork or knife would be, but then again most Vulcans are taller and stronger than humans so maybe that makes sense. She glances over at his hands and thinks that it definitely makes sense.

She realizes, belatedly, that she's still staring at his hands when a waiter appears next to her.

"Welcome," the waiter says in Vulcan and his words wrench her focus onto trying to place his accent and trying to guess what dialect he might speak, and therefore what part of the planet he might be from that it takes her a moment to realize he's holding out a menu to her.

"Thank you," she says but fumbles the phrase because she's suddenly unsure if she should use the formal address since she doesn't know him, or the familiar one since he's serving them food.

"She will have a glass of water," Spock says and the waiter nods and melts into the background.

She already spoke Vulcan when she enrolled at the Academy, so she never had him as an instructor in it, and she realizes, glancing across the table as he studies the menu in front of him that she's never heard him speak it.

She's always thought that people sound much more like themselves if she can hear them in their own language, and listening to him talk to the waiter proves no exception to that rule. Despite how measured his voice is, and despite the inexpressiveness of his tone, there's something about the way he speaks that's less stilted, like the words are much easier for him to get out in Vulcan than anything she's ever heard him say in Standard.

"Vulcans do not have the same hydration needs as humans do."

"What?"

"He would not have brought you any water."

"Did you grow up in Shi'Kahr?" she asks, then shakes herself. "Oh, sorry, I meant thank you."

"I did. And you are welcome."

"Sorry, I just..." She brushes her hair back for something to do with her hands. "Your accent," she explains.

"You learned Vulcan from a native of Shi'Kahr?" he asks and the way he says the name of the city is different than how she is able to pronounce it, no matter how many years of practice she has and how many languages she speaks.

"No, she was from T'Paal but I used to watch the newscasts from Shi'Kahr so I could listen to the language as much as possible while I was learning it." She carefully smooths her hands over her lap and tries not to wince at her own pronunciation of Vulcan cities with him sitting there across from her. "I heard all about the controversy over the repairs on the Temple of Amonak, and the elections of the High Council that year, and that explosion at the Starfleet Base near the city."

"Those are not recent events."

"Oh, no, I was in high school, it was a while ago."

"Your secondary school offered Vulcan as a language option?" he asks. "Is that common?"

"No, I just learned it on my own from a professor who was spending a year teaching in Mombasa. He let me sit in on his classes when I could, and would give me some readings to do." Nyota reaches out and finally pulls her menu towards her and begins to study it. "It was really nice of him to do all that for me."

"It is logical to teach a skill one possess to others who would like to acquire it."

"Ok, then tell me what _balkra_ means. And _dyrk_. And _kap-yar_."

He has to translate nearly a dozen other words and she finally just puts her menu back down and shakes her head at it. Learning a language is one thing, but figuring out how to actually live and operate in a culture is another, something that trying to decide on her dinner reminds her of. "Guess it would be logical to just ask for a menu in Standard? He's not going to assume I need one unless I say something?"

"No."

"Maybe you should just order for me," she suggests.

"I do not know what you would prefer."

She waves that off. "Get me whatever you mom likes."

He glances up at her, a quick rise of his eyes from his menu to her face before he blinks. "I see."

He orders when the waiter comes back with her water and she barely listens, too focused on the embroidery on the waiter's robes, something she hadn't noticed the last time he'd come by. It's done in rich golds and silvers against the black and while Nyota can read Vulcan script, it's hard to make out the characters with the way the fabric's falling and she's too shy to just sit there and stare.

"What do his robes say?" she asks once he's out of earshot again. Or she hopes he's out of earshot, since Vulcans are renowned for their hearing, which goes a long way to explaining why the music in the restaurant is so soft and the room is built in a way to muffle sounds as much as possible.

"They are the names of his and his wife's clans."

"Oh, neat," she says, trying to not sound too enthusiastic in a room full of Vulcans. But it's all so interesting and new and Spock seems willing enough to explain the intricacies of what she's observed so far, so she really can't help herself. "I've only ever seen those in books and the names are all so hard for humans to pronounce I've never even tried. So when you get married, you add your spouses' name to your robes?" she asks before she can think about it.

As soon as the words are out of her mouth she sees something tighten in him, before he's carefully cool and calm again.

"When one gets married, yes, that is the tradition."

"Um, sorry. I didn't mean-" To bring up the fact that he's single when it's obviously a huge aberration in his culture, she meant to finish that sentence, but he interrupts her.

"It is of no-"

"But I'm really sorry," she interrupts before he can brush it off. "Whatever happened, it's none of my business. I shouldn't have brought it up."

She can hear a waiter taking orders from a table near them, the hiss of the door as it opens onto the street to let another couple walk in, and then closes behind them, and the soft, melodic notes of the Vulcan lyre playing over the sound system.

"If you want to talk about it…" she finally offers.

"I do not."

"Sorry," she says again and then amuses herself looking around the restaurant since he seems to want to suddenly ignore that she's even sitting there. It's getting pretty full and what's more, everyone seems to know each other. There are quiet nods and quick _ta'als_ exchanged between groups, and more than once someone rises from their table to approach another. "Not many Vulcans on Earth?" she guesses, breaking the silence that has fallen between them. "Everyone seems to know each other."

"That is so."

"Do you know many of these people?"

"Not personally."

"They seem to know who you are," she points out, watching yet another Vulcan glance over at the Commander and then wants to put her foot in her mouth at the look he levels at her.

Then, to her surprise, he actually responds to that instead of changing the subject like she would have guessed he would do. Or just remain silent, since that seems to be his other tactic whenever they try to hold a conversation about anything other than work.

"I believe a number of them are acquainted with my father," he explains. "Furthermore, as the only Vulcan currently serving in Starfleet, I am quite distinct among the Vulcans who come to Earth to work in other careers."

She wants to ask if him being half human has anything to do with his apparent renown as well, but doesn't let herself.

"What does your father do?" she asks instead.

"He is the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth."

She chokes on the sip of water she just took.

"You, ah, never mentioned that. Ambassador Sarek, right?" she asks, quickly wiping off her mouth with her napkin. She remembers his name from the newscasts and newspaper articles she reads when she gets a chance to catch up on current events, and the recordings that she listened to while learning Vulcan. And actually, come to think of it, maybe she did know that he has a human wife.

"Was not the purpose of this dinner to learn more particulars about each other's lives?" he asks stiffly.

"Yes."

"Is that not the type of information typically exchanged in such a situation?"

Nyota has to actually think back over past dates she's been on, since it's been so long that none spring readily to mind.

"Yes," she finally repeats. "I just didn't realize he's your father."

"That is apparent."

"It's pretty interesting."

"Is it."

"We can talk about something else," she offers.

"I would prefer that," he says, then doesn't volunteer a different topic.

Instead, he just looks at her and she presses her lips together, hoping that nobody else in the restaurant finds the aching silence that stretches between them as awkward as she does. Then again, Vulcans probably aren't predisposed to noticing how awkward something like that would be, or Spock would be much more of a help keeping the conversation going. "Um. Well, read any good books recently?"

"No."

"Have any funny stories of you and Puri at the Academy?"

"Hardly."

"Want to talk about Pike? Or any of your other colleagues?"

"Not at this juncture."

"Did you tell him about tonight?"

"Yes."

"How'd that go?"

"Acceptably."

"Ok." She purses her lips and stares around the restaurant for a long moment, trying to come up with something to ask him about that won't earn such stony responses, but her mind's drawing a blank. "Want to talk about our work?" she asks, since that often seems like the only topic that they can actually sustain for longer than three sentences at a time.

"You stated the we are to further understand the specifics of each other's backgrounds during this meal. Discussing our work will not aid the stated goal of learning about each other."

"Ok, but then you have to actually try," she tells him. "At least attempt to make an effort."

His expression just gets a little blanker for a moment, before he seems to also decide that staring around the room is preferable to actually looking at each other.

"I have learned much of the details of your past from your personnel file."

"Which you read?" she asks.

"Naturally," he answers and she tries to decide if it's worth telling him how creepy that is.

"Anything stick out?" she asks, trying to remember exactly what's in it. A lot, really, most of her background was laid out for her Academy application, but she doesn't exactly knows what ends up in her file, and what's accessible to professors who decide to go snooping. "And seriously, why did you read it? And when?"

"I wished to ascertain the veracity of your claim that you were a top student and that it would be worth the time to work on a paper with you."

"What, I didn't do well enough in your class?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at him. "Because I'm pretty sure I was at the top of it. Or near enough."

"You were one of the top students."

"One of," she repeats, wondering if she can get him to tell her who scored above her. Unlikely. "So what did you find, exactly? In my file?"

But he doesn't answer because the waiter returns with the check, and if that's not distracting enough, Spock thanks him and she can't help but listen to how he speaks Vulcan again.

"Why did you use that phrase to express appreciation? Is it- wait. Why did he bring that now?" she asks.

"Because we have ordered."

"But we don't have our food."

"We have placed our order and therefore the total can be calculated and we can pay."

She finds herself smiling, just a little. "Guess there's no such thing as getting dessert?"

"Precisely," he says as he reaches for the bill and she feels her smile fade immediately.

"No, let me-" she starts, reaching for it too, which earns her a raised eyebrow.

"You do not earn as large a salary as I do."

"Wow. Thanks for that. Really. That was great. Want to calculate the discrepancy?"

"I am aware of the difference in our pay scales as I was once a cadet and furthermore, my statements is fact."

"Which does not mean it's necessary to go around pointing it out," she says, resisting the urge to cross her arms. Or just reach across the table and grab the bill from him. "I'm not going to invite you out to dinner and then expect you to pay for it."

"You did not invite me, you informed me that I should invite you. And the fact remains that I earn-"

"Look, I'll get this, you get dinner on Saturday and we'll call it even. It'll be great, like-" She's in a restaurant and admirably restrains herself from burying her face in her hands and groaning. "Like we're actually dating. Maybe we can submit the receipts to the Ambassador."

"Would that be possible?"

"No. Well, actually, maybe. You never know. Now c'mon, I don't want you to pay for two meals of mine."

"Why?"

"Because."

"But why, specifically?"

"Because, Spock. Just because."

"You have not answered-"

"Why are you so incredibly difficult?"

"I am logical."

"Difficult," she repeats. "And if you want to talk about logic, isn't there a certain rationality in a reciprocal offer to share purchases? And furthermore, I'm human, so it's logical that I would make decisions based on emotion. And also, you can't just use logic when you want to use it and not let me use it. And, I'll add, the argument that just because you earn more is spurious at best because that completely negates any consideration of human culture, where we don't disseminate differences in salaries when in social situations like this." She crosses her arms and stares at him while he stares right back at her. "What," she finally says when he still has spoken.

"I am waiting in order to ascertain if there is another item on your list," he says but he slides the bill across the table towards her.

"Funny, Spock, that's funny," she says.

"It was not intended to be so."

"Regular comedy hour over here," she mutters. "How much do Vulcans tip?"

"Waiters are paid a salary. Tipping is illogical as performance should not be motivated by financial gain. Furthermore, we have not yet been here for sixty minutes."

"Fine. Regular comedy twenty six minutes and forty three seconds," she says, pulling a handful of credits out of her wallet. It figures that Vulcans would not only pay their staff well, but also be just so damn efficient and economical that their meal costs what a single tomato would at Jardinière.

"We have been here for precisely-"

"What was that?" she asks, starting to turn in her chair to try to locate the source of a loud squeal that cut off his sentence, before she can stop herself.

"A child."

"Really?" she gapes, his explanation just making her want to look even more. She's never seen a Vulcan child and the thought of tiny pointed ears and tiny slanted brows makes something inside her go soft and warm.

"As logic is taught and is not an innate skill, Vulcan children can be quite…" he pauses, then doesn't finish the sentence. "It is common for parents to bring their children out in public so that they can observe how adults behave, so that by the time they reach the age of five or six, they are capable of emulating such conduct."

"Wow, that's so young," she says, then grins. "So Vulcan toddlers are like humans when they're toddlers? Kind of difficult?"

"Hardly," he answers but there's something a lot like sarcasm underlying that word.

She's so busy wondering if he's even capable of sarcasm, the idea seeming less impossible than maybe it might have once, that their food arrives before she can prod at the topic of Vulcan childhood anymore.

"Oh, that smells good," she says, twisting her hair around her hand to hold it back as she leans forward to inhale. "What is it?"

"_Balk'ra mashya_," he answers.

"Kind of like a stew?" she asks, picking up the too large fork and poking at it. It looks like vegetables swimming in a thick, fragrant purple soup.

"Yes, made from various vegetables and baked in plomeek broth. My mother finds it highly palatable."

"It's wonderful," Nyota says when she has swallowed her first bite. "She has good taste. What did you get?"

"_Pok'tar_. It is similar to a Terran pasta dish, but made with a grain humans find rather repellant."

"Can I try it anyway?" she asks, hoping she isn't committing some Vulcan taboo by asking for a bite.

He raises an eyebrow at her question, but nods and holds out his hand for her fork. When he hands it back, it's a good thing the handle is so big because it's hard to take it from him without their fingers touching.

"Oh, it's…" She reaches for her water and takes a long sip, trying to swallow what she just ate. "Oh, it's like glue. But made from chalk."

"My mother once referred to it as consuming wet talcum powder mixed with used coffee grounds."

"Exactly," Nyota agrees, chasing down that bite with one from her own plate, the heavy spices and flavors thankfully overpowering the remnants of bitterness Spock's meal left in her mouth. "Guess I'll remember to eat with a local next time I'm trying a new cuisine."

"I would have perhaps expected you to have eaten here before, what with your interest in other cultures."

"I don't take much time off of school. And I don't really…" She pokes at a foreign vegetable on her plate, feeling heat race to her cheeks. "You know how many languages I speak, but I've really only been off of Earth a couple times. I don't know much about…" she trails off and gestures to their food, and then around them at the rest of the restaurant. "All of this," she finishes, shrugging.

If that surprises him, he thankfully lets it neither show, nor comments on it.

"Where have you traveled when you did leave Earth?"

"We went to the moon on vacation once, and to Io." She cuts the vegetable in half, deciding it looks rather like a potato, if potatoes were dark green on the inside. "That's pretty much it. There were three of us and my parents were always busy with work and so school vacation mainly meant being dropped off at my grandparents in the morning and picked up at night when my parents got home from the office."

"Is it common for other generations to provide childcare in human families?"

"Yes, definitely," she nods. "I mean, depending on circumstances and how close everyone lives, but they were just down the street. And my three aunts also lived in the city and all of my mom's brothers, so there was always someone to watch us."

"I believe that might explain my mother's frustration that none of my father's family members were ever willing to watch me."

"Probably," Nyota agrees. "Vulcans don't watch family member's children?"

"It would have to be extenuating circumstance."

"Yeah, that would drive me nuts too, then. I just can't imagine moving to a foreign culture and living your entire life by other rules."

"She is remarkable," he says and she looks up from her plate again at the change in his tone.

"Well, I meant you, too," she says lightly and then feels a flush creep up her cheeks when he looks up at her, his eyes dark in the dim light of the restaurant. She rushes to clarify. "I mean, also everyone who comes to the Academy. I only had to move across the planet, but I can go home for a weekend easily enough if I want to, and the food's the same, and the climate similar enough. I'd love to live somewhere else someday and experience something so new and different."

He's still just looking at her and she feels the weight of his gaze for a long moment before he returns his attention to his dinner.

"You may find that if you are assigned to a starship, the experience will be more than foreign enough for you."

"I hope so."

"Is that why you came to the Academy? So that you could travel?" he asks and she nods, thinking that he's far more perceptive than he lets on.

"Yes, definitely. Well, one reason. Serving the Federation of course, as well," she answers and it's his turn to nod. In the spirit of getting to know each other – and it's just about the most common question thrown around in Starfleet – she asks the same of him. "What brought you here?"

"I wished to live on Earth."

"That can't be all of it," she finally says when it doesn't seem like he's going to add anything else.

"It is not," he confirms but doesn't elaborate. Watching him focus intently on his meal, his demeanor as Vulcan as anyone else in this restaurant even though he's there in Terran casual clothes and eating with a human, she decides that maybe it's not the time yet to pry for a more thorough answer.

…

"How was it?" Gaila asks when Nyota gets home that night.

"It was fine. Nice."

"Wow. Resounding success, then, since you're not throwing your stuff around and complaining about the man."

Nyota just rolls her eyes and sits down on her bed to finally take her shoes off.

"He was still annoying, trust me. And here. Thanks for letting me borrow them."

She drops her sweater she had taken off the moment they left the restaurant on the bed next to her and spends a long moment wiggling her toes, trying to get blood flowing to them again.

Gaila sits on her own bed, unusually quiet.

"You look nice, Ny."

"Uh, thanks. Are you trying to tell me I usually don't?"

"No, but is that a new dress?"

Nyota frowns down at herself. "No, I just hardly ever wear it."

"Did the Commander like it?" Gaila asks with a sly grin.

"Oh shut up," Nyota groans, rising from the bed and reaching behind her back to unzip it. "I don't know how Vulcan women do it, wearing those robes all the time. I was sweating buckets by the time that meal was over and I'm sure being unbearably human."

"Where did you two eat, the sun?" Gaila grins. "Get it? Because-"

"I get it. And that Vulcan place. It was good, actually, but hotter than hell in there. And oh my God, Gaila, this family brought their baby and I have literally never seen anything so cute. They left before us and the ears! They were so little!"

"You two went out to dinner, dinner? I thought it was just dinner."

"I… don't understand."

"It was like a date, date."

"… Yes. It was. That being the idea of this whole thing."

"What did you two talk about?"

"Stuff. Did you know his father is the Vulcan Ambassador? Not that he actually really said anything about that, but now I kind of want to look up news about Ambassador Sarek. Which would be creepy except that looking up facts about each other is apparently ok with Spock, which is kind of weird. Or logical. Or both. Probably not mutually exclusive," Nyota says, slipping her earrings out and putting them on her dresser. "And I asked a million questions about basically everything in the room and probably drove him nuts."

"Nuts, nuts? Or just kind of nuts? Do Vulcans even get nuts? Go nuts? Become nuts?"

"What? No, I mean, he answered all of them."

"He likes you."

"He does not. He tolerates me. And I'm pretty sure thinks I'm ridiculous."

"Well, you think I'm ridiculous," Gaila points out and Nyota pauses in pulling on her pajamas to roll her eyes again.

"Are you excited for your next big date with him?"

"No. Of course not. Yes. I don't know. It'll be interesting to spend that much time with so many officers. And I've never met Hawkins before, so that'll be something to get to know him a bit."

"Are you excited about meeting with the Commander about your paper again?" Gaila asks and Nyota nods.

"Definitely. He's infuriating, but helpful. Like his own personal paradox."

"He likes you," Gaila says again, more firmly this time and Nyota just sighs. "There is zero chance he doesn't."

"Better check that math, Cadet," Nyota says, shaking her head, and then pushing Gaila to one side of her bed and sitting down next to her. "And it's my turn to pick which movie we're watching, so no complaining about what I choose."

* * *

><p><em>1111/14: So because I love our favorite dorks and because I love writing I decided it would somehow be a good idea to start on another story while editing this one, and then decided that the holidays would make a good premise, and then realized that if I'm actually going to post it during the holidays that's, like, almost now. So I'm going to start posting the new story, titled 'For the Rest of Us', concurrently with 'The Place Between' through New Years. Don't worry that this will be put on hold because of the other story (though there is some significant restructuring of chapter 9 that needs to happen which might take a few days) and you should all go read my other story! It's good! I swear! And, as ever, I would be remiss if I didn't thank you all for your lovely reviews. You all made me laugh with the enthusiasm for S/U on a mini golf date and I promise it will be included!_


	9. Chapter 9

"_Akan-ha-talu,_" she says in Romulan.

"_Akan-ha-talu_," he repeats.

"No, the emphasis is on the last syllable."

"_Akan-ha-talu_," he says again.

"Closer," she tells since that seems nicer than pointing he's not exactly getting anywhere.

"It was not."

"It's probably hard because it's so close to Vulcan, right?"

"That fact should not render it more difficult than learning any other language."

"Why don't we wrap up for the day?" she suggests instead of doing what she really wants to, which is to ask him how logical frustration is. She glances into her mug and finds it empty, and she doesn't really want another cup of tea, nor to occupy their table at the café if she's not going to purchase anything else. "I need to go get ready, anyway."

"Ready for?"

"Tonight?"

"We do not need to leave campus for three hours and eighteen minutes."

"But I need to go get dressed."

"You are currently dressed," he says, glancing over her.

"No. I mean yes, I am, obviously, but I have to change."

"And you expect that to take-"

"A sufficiently logical amount of time. See you soon," she says, gathering up her padds in order to leave before he can get into the fact that she can't get ready for an evening out with the efficiency of a Vulcan.

Or trying to leave, because he packs up his own things and is standing there, waiting, before she can even finish pushing her chair in.

"What, precisely, will take that amount of time?"

"You want a play by play?" she asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder and resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"I am simply curious," he says.

"It's a big dinner, at a nice restaurant, with more senior officers than I think I've ever been around at one time."

"That is hardly accurate. At Academy functions with the entirety of the faculty, students, and staff present-"

"And the Ambassador's hardly going to be impressed if I just phone it in," she continues without missing a beat.

"Phone what in, precisely?"

"Never mind."

"Is a comm necessary?" he asks and his words a just a little too quick, a little less measured than she's normally used to from him. "You have not explained-"

"Oh my God," she says, pausing at the door to the café and staring up at him. "Are you nervous?"

"As that is an emotional response-"

"Are you unsure of the events of tonight?" she amends before he can build up any momentum.

"No."

"It's ok if you are, if you have more questions," she says as she opens the door and steps out onto the street.

"I do not."

"Ok."

They get a half a block before he speaks again.

"I still do not understand why I must drive you. You are capable of navigating the city on your own."

"We've been over this," she says. "More than once. Trust me on this one."

"But that does not explain-"

"What else?" He doesn't answer, just keeps walking and not looking at her. "Do you have other things you want to go over?"

"I said that I do not."

"I'm nervous, too, if that helps."

"I am not-"

"Fine, I'm nervous, no 'too'. It's a weird situation to be in. Just being around the Ambassador would be hard just on its own, but your boss is there, along with all of your colleagues, and these are all officers who I would like to get to know for my own career and that definitely carries a certain amount of pressure for me."

She gets a glance out of the corner of his eye before he's staring straight ahead again.

"I see."

She waits until they're nearly back at campus and her dorm is in sight before speaking again.

"No comms, by the way. 'Phone it in' means being unenthusiastic, or not completing something as well as you could. It's really archaic, from back before comms replaced the prior communication system on Earth."

"I was not aware."

"Yeah, I know." She looks up at him for a moment before nodding her head at her dorm. "I'm going to go, I'll see you soon."

"Very well," he says but the words are so short and clipped that she finds herself taking a small step towards him.

"You're fine. It's going to be fine." He starts to answer, then doesn't, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder. "You're going to pick me up, we're going to drive there, have a lovely evening eating food that's so expensive it would probably buy a small shuttlecraft, and then you're going to drive me home and it'll all be over. Simple, so simple."

"A shuttlecraft costs-"

"See? That's why Pike wants you around, no wonder he likes you so much," she says lightly. "Who else at that table tonight is going to know the exact cost of a shuttlecraft?"

"Mr. Olson."

"Oh. Yeah, probably." She squints over at her dorm and lets out a long breath. "Look. We're in this together, right? And I won't- I don't want to have a terrible evening, either. I'm rather invested in these people not thinking… Whatever. Not thinking whatever it is that would be bad for them to think." But her assurances hardly seem to resolve his probably incredibly logical consternation, because his expression has slid from something perfectly bland to something a lot more strained, even if she's entirely sure not a single muscle on his face moved. "You good?"

"Yes."

"You sure."

"Yes."

"Ok," she says, but barely gets the word out before he speaks, his own words coming in a rush.

"I understand that for humans, a significant other can at times be perceived as an indication of an individuals own attributes and characteristics.

"What?"

"I do not wish to reflect poorly upon you."

"Oh." That draws her up short and she just blinks at him. "Really?"

"That is what I just said."

"But really, really?"

"Would it be helpful if I repeated myself?"

"No. That's – that's just very thoughtful. Thank you."

"It is not thoughtful, it is a logical deduction based off of the irrational way in which Terran culture-"

"Yep, got it," she says. She feels a bit like his revelation has rendered something in her mind as blank as the expression he has on his face, but she gamely forages ahead despite that, because she's a linguist and she can figure out what to say. Probably. "You're- you- you're not…"

"Pardon?"

She purses her lips at him and gives him an annoyed look, which she knows is probably her expression around him more often than not. It's fine, though, because he seems to constantly have one eyebrow raised, his head tipped to the side, and that furrow between his brows whenever she looks up at him.

And that's it, really, isn't it, constantly looking up at him like that, no matter how annoying she generally finds it.

"You're tall."

"I do not understand the way in which my height-"

"I mean, I meant- you're considered rather attractive. By humans. Some humans. Other races, too. And you're smart. Obviously. So."

He waits and it's not long before that furrow deepens. "So?"

"So it's not- it's-"

"Are you having difficulty expressing yourself?"

She crosses her arms and feels her jaw tighten. "I thought it would be illogical to state the obvious."

"It is," he says, then pauses, like he just realized what agreeing with her actually meant. "I-"

"Look, you're the guy everyone wants to date even though I'm pretty sure half of the Academy is terrified of you, and you've got that serious, quiet thing going on and that's kind of-" Her mouth works, soundlessly, before she can get the rest of the words out. "Appealing. People find that attractive. Some people. Not everyone. But enough that I don't think that being there with you would in anyway reflect poorly upon me. Probably the opposite, actually."

"It is illogical to base a conception of a person's merits, contributions to a relationship, or individual strengths or characteristics on physical attributes."

"Well, fine. So glad to hear that Vulcans take such a wonderfully understanding and solicitous approach to the confluence of physical attractiveness and personality. Really. That's incredible. Good for you. "

"I am satisfied that you are glad to hear that."

"Of course you are," she mutters, hitching her bag up her shoulder and crossing her arms. "Yeah. So. Thanks for your… consideration, I guess, but don't worry about it."

"Very well."

"Great." She scrapes the sole of her boot against the cement of the sidewalk. "Anything else?"

"No."

"Ok. You'll pick me up."

"I said that I would."

"You did." She glances up at him again, then nods her head towards her dorm. "Bye."

"Have a pleasant afternoon," he tells her and then he's gone, walking off towards where the faculty apartments are. She watches him go for a moment before shaking herself, dragging her bag up her shoulder again, and heading to her dorm.

…

"He's teaching you Vulcan?" Gaila asks, frowning at Nyota's nail polish collection. "These are terrible, Ny."

"Then use your own."

"Is learning Vulcan a euphemism for something raunchy and dirty?"

"No, it's- you're ridiculous, Gaila, he's teaching me some parts of the language you wouldn't learn in a class, and I'm teaching him Romulan."

"Why?"

"Because he's interested in the language and doesn't speak it. Logical, then, to learn it, or whatever."

"And you're learning more Vulcan for your paper?"

"No, just because I'm interested, too."

That finally makes Gaila look up at her and wipes the frown from her face Nyota's nail polish choices have caused.

"Well isn't that nice of him."

"It is, I guess. Hair up or down?"

"Up. No, down. Actually, up. Up, definitely. Or down. Whichever."

Nyota searches through her dresser, and then the small cabinet by the sink in their bathroom, and then through Gaila's dresser.

"Really, these are so uninspired, Ny," she says, picking up each bottle, sighing, and putting it back down.

"You took, and then lost, all of my hair pins. All of them. Again."

"I think there's a couple of them in the bottom of my bag."

There are four, but one has gum all over it.

"Are you trying to sabotage this whole evening?" Nyota asks, rinsing the remaining three in the bathroom sink.

"Sabotage would be telling you to wear the dress you picked out."

"I am completely capable of choosing my own clothes, thank you very much."

The sound of a nail file scratching is the only response Nyota gets and she just scrubs harder at the pins.

When she pokes her head back in the room, Gaila's filing her thumbnail and frowning again.

"I'm not sure you are."

"I am," Nyota assures her. "But, uh, if you had to choose which dress-"

Gaila launches herself off her bed and towards Nyota's closet.

"I thought you'd never ask."

"I'm surprised you waited for me to," Nyota mutters, dragging a brush through her hair as Gaila proceeds to pull most of her clothes out.

"This one, no, no, no, that won't do. This one. Oh, and I love this one, too. Wait, the blue one. Or the white one. Or oh, this one is nice." Gaila drops the dress she's holding onto Nyota's bed and puts her hands on her hips. "Why don't you ever wear these? They're just sitting in here and you have so many of them!"

"Because until quite recently, I didn't spend my time going on fake dates with my research advisors."

"I'm still so proud of you. Ok, this one," Gaila says and Nyota doesn't even pause in brushing her hair to shake her head. "Fine, this one. Not as short. Not as… plunging. Super demure and by demure I mean boring. C'mon, Ny, when are all these from? They're awesome. Except for this one, which is lame so I'm sure you'll choose it."

"I do like that one," Nyota says, grabbing for it before Gaila can do something that would render it conveniently unwearable for the evening.

"You know, if you would wear some of these out sometime, you wouldn't be stuck fake dating people you hate."

"I don't hate him."

Gaila frowns, still sorting through Nyota's clothes. "I thought you definitely hated him, like a hundred percent, top capacity."

"I don't think you can even hate Vulcans, they're too…"

"Logical?"

"Boring?"

"Speaking of, this dress is anything but boring, Ny," Gaila says, holding up a bright red one Nyota hasn't worn in so long she can't really remember even owning it. "Can I borrow it?"

"Can you promise to not get bodily fluid on it? Your own or anyone else's?" Nyota asks, sticking all three hairpins in her mouth and speaking around them.

"What if I wash it?"

"Doesn't count," Nyota tells her, trying to make something happen with three hairpins and not enough time.

She gets what's most likely to fall into her food it pinned up enough that she's fairly certain it won't be dragging across her plate – and gets done in time to keep Gaila from beginning to sort through her jewelry.

"What? It's all so shiny!"

"These or these?" Nyota asks, holding up two pairs of earrings.

"Put your dress on first."

By the time Nyota's clothed, has her shoes on, and is back to sorting through earrings and necklaces, Gaila has half her fingernails painted bright gold and is admiring the way they sparkle.

"Can you-?" Nyota asks, after fumbling for too long with the difficult clasp of her favorite necklace and trying to keep her hair up at the same time, and casting increasingly harried glances at the clock. "I have to go. He's probably going to have a heart attack if I'm late."

"Sorry," Gaila shrugs, nodding her chin towards her wet nails.

"You plan stuff like this," Nyota sighs.

"Yep. But you love me so much it doesn't even matter." Nyota levels an exasperated look at her roommate, reclining on her messy bed and already examining the nails of her other hand. "Have a nice night!"

"Thanks," she says, taking one last quick look in the mirror, gathering up her bag and necklace, and being thankful that Vulcan disposition probably lends itself to being more helpful than Gaila.

Spock's waiting for her outside and she realizes she never really explained that it wouldn't have been inappropriate to come into the lobby of her dorm to get her. Instead, he's standing next to a sleek black car and she wonders if it's his or one of the Academy ones that officers can use. It's looks too nice to be one of the standard rentals, all shiny and streamlined and the fact it has exactly zero scratches in the pristine paint job makes her think it more than likely belongs to him, though why he keeps a car in the city is beyond her.

"Hi," she says, glancing over his dress grays. They're perfectly pressed, not that she expected anything less, but he's somehow managed to drive to her dorm without getting a single wrinkle on them and she thinks that's no small feat.

"Hello."

"Do you mind?" she asks. She holds out her necklace to him and he proves much more obliging than Gaila, taking it from her without question.

He's so careful about it, though, and already looks so tense in that way of his, where he's really just stiffer and more meticulous about everything, that she thinks she really doesn't want to spend the night with an anxious fake-date, not when she can already feel butterflies of her own mounting in her stomach.

"You ok?" she asks as he steps behind her. She studies his reflection, warped as it is in the window of the car.

"By posing that question you are assuming an adverse emotional effect, which I can assure you-"

"Gotcha."

She lifts her hair for him, wrapping it around her hand and drawing it forward over her shoulder, and she realizes she can feel a wash of warmth from his body so close to hers.

"I do not know what that means."

"What? Wait, the other way around. Yeah, flip it so that part is facing out," she instructs him and waits, while he patiently switches around the necklace so that it'll go on properly. "Got you. I meant that I understand."

"I see," he says, the words clipped and she inwardly groans, wishing she hadn't said something that seemed to give rise to how much of human culture and colloquialisms he constantly misses.

"Sorry," she says, the hair on the back of her positively tingling from the heat of his hands so close to her skin. She feels the weight of the chain against her skin, cold and metallic, as he steps away from her.

"It is of no-"

"Of course it isn't." She glances over him again and he really is tall, no matter that she's in a pair of heels that she was really hoping might begin to even things out. And she's not even that short, which makes his height even more striking to her. "You look nice," she tells him, trying to ease his nerves even though he probably doesn't care how he looks.

"I am certain that my appearance is the same as it always in when I wear my dress uniform."

"Well, whatever, then you always look nice when you wear it. I'm surprised you don't have a gaggle of first years trailing after you right now."

"Is the correct term for a group of first year students truly a 'gaggle'?"

"If I tell you yes, will you repeat that fact during dinner tonight?" she asks, trying not to smile at how he says such a silly word so seriously.

"No."

"Figured as much."

"Then why did you-"

"Never mind." She shakes her head at him and wonders, as she has so many times this summer, exactly how her life has shaken out that she's doing this with him. "You're supposed to tell me I look nice, too, you know. Human tradition, to tell a woman she looks beautiful."

"Is that so?" His eyes flick over her and to her surprise, she feels her skin prickle like his hands are close to her again. "I am not in the habit of voicing the obvious," he says coolly.

She has half a dozen things to say to that, but all of them catch in her throat. She raises her hand to the necklace, settling it and smoothing her hair, before brushing her palms down the front of her dress and tugging at it so that it sits right.

"Right," she finally gets out, and then is so distracted by him opening the car door for her that she forgets to say anything else.

She's just nervous, which is fine and probably logical with the fact that she's about to be at a dinner with a group of people she wants to work for some day.

Spock is also completely silent on the drive there, expertly navigating San Francisco traffic. When she peeks at the speedometer, she can't help but notice that he spends the entire trip going exactly the speed limit, which makes her smile, and his parallel parking skills are none other than exemplary and precise.

He keeps that carefully blank expression of his up until they start to cross the street and her arm brushes against his.

"Relax," she whispers as they wait for a break in traffic to cross the street.

"What are you-" he starts and she can feel his arm twitch, so close to hers that the fabric of his dress jacket nudges her bare arm.

"I am not walking in there with you with three feet between us," she whispers as they cross the street, her heels and his boots beating out a staccato rhythm.

"I do not see the purpose of- Captain."

"Wasn't sure you were going to make it after all, Mr. Spock," Pike says with a grin so wide the corner of his eyes crinkle.

"I was under the impression that it was hardly a choice, sir."

"Ah, well, I'm sure you could have logiced up a reason." Spock's mouth tightens and Nyota doesn't think it's just from the Captain having made logic a verb. "And you," Pike says, turning to her with one side of his mouth still pulled up in a grin. "You were in Iowa?"

It's a question, as if the Captain's not entirely certain, and frankly Nyota's surprised that he even remembers her from that trip nearly a year ago now. Though, admittedly, being the subject of the bar fight that led to Kirk enlisting might have something to do with it.

In the moment where a human might have put their hand on her back, or her arm, Spock just inclines his head towards her.

"This is Nyota."

"I have heard all about you," Pike says, holding out a hand to her. "Though not from the Commander, of course."

"It's nice to meet you again," she says, returning his firm handshake.

"Communications, right?"

"Yes, sir, focusing in xenolinguistics."

"Which is how you two met?"

"Yes, this past semester."

"Well isn't that nice," Pike says, shooting another look at Spock. "And here I thought it would be inadvisable to have my senior staff hold other positions in the 'Fleet while we're getting the ship ready."

"As I assured you, I have plenty of time to serve in both capacities," Spock says.

"And yet, not quite enough time to tell me about the lovely cadet here."

"I informed you she would also be attending this dinner," Spock says so stiffly that Nyota very nearly considers elbowing him, if it would make him relax at all.

"And aren't we so lucky about that fact," Pike says, grinning at Spock again. "To think I was worried that we were going to have to train Puri on dilithium crystal refinery techniques to ever get our ship off the ground."

"The _Enterprise_ is currently at Spacedock."

"You must be excited about having it out of Iowa," Nyota says, cutting into their conversation before the way Pike's nearly laughing resolves itself into some type of comment about Spock's observational skills. "I didn't realize when I was out there that it was even so close to being space ready."

"Really just a matter of the deck panels and life support systems," Pikes says easily, his attention sliding back to her.

"I can't believe how busy you two must be with getting everything ready," she continues. "It all seems so complicated."

"I'm pretty sure keeping a dozen languages straight in my head would be tougher," Pike responds and she grins.

"More than a dozen, sir."

"Save that for when Hawkins gets here," Pike tells her and she has to smile again.

When Hawkins does walk in, closely followed by the Ambassador, Stoyer, and Puri, she has half a mind to ask Spock to switch seats with her, but they're already settled at the long table the restaurant set aside for them and trying to explain the logic of sitting closer to the chief comms officer on the _Enterprise_ seems possible, but too difficult. Instead, she resigns herself to continuing to listen to Pike's explanation of Terran dining, the way he's speaking to the Ambassador reminding her that comms officers aren't the only ones trained in diplomacy, and that negotiating dinner rolls is probably the least of Pike's worries when he's on an away mission.

"They are unpalatable."

"To be fair, you haven't tried one yet," Pike points out.

"I do not eat bread," the Ambassador says sharply, one long fingered hand pointing to the offending basket the waiter has placed on the table.

"It's a Terran custom," Nyota explains. "They'll bring menus soon, so that you can choose what you'd like."

"I will wait."

Nyota can't help but think that Pike might have wanted to put Puri or Stoyer next to the Ambassador, but Spock and Puri already have their heads bent together over some conversation, and Stoyer's on Puri's other side talking to Hawkins, leaving the Saiph to Pike and Nyota and it hardly makes for a fun seating arrangement. Interesting, maybe, but also kind of a pain.

Luckily, she figures as she watches butter melt on the fluffy inside of her dinner roll and already dreaming about her first bite, the food will probably make up for it.

"Your crew is late," the Ambassador says abruptly.

Pike glances down at the two empty chairs at the end of the table.

"I think McKenna and Olson were born late."

"They did not hatch from their eggs when their gestation period was complete?"

"Eggs?" Pike asks.

"Eggs," the Ambassador says firmly.

"Humans are mammals, we give birth to our young," Nyota explains.

"Why?"

"Um," Nyota says. She turns to Spock, who probably has six or seven advanced degrees in biology, but he's still talking to Puri. "Because."

"Then your two officers were not birthed in a timely manner?"

"It's a metaphor," Nyota says. "An idiom, an expression that we use to suggest that they often don't arrive on time."

"Why?"

"Sometimes figures of speech illustrate-"

"Why are they late?"

"We're not late, we're here, we're here," Olson says, brushing past other diners and zipping up the last few inches of his dress jacket. He's slightly out of breath, his face flushed bright red. "The bus. Sorry, sir. Sirs. Captain, Commander. Ambassador."

"Chief Engineer Olson," Pike says, gesturing between him and the Ambassador.

"Hi, ma'am, nice to meet you. Doctor, hi, sir. Dean Stoyer, nice to see you again-"

"I'm a sir to you, too," she says with a smile, leaning forward to shake his hand.

"Nice to see you again, sir," he repeats, as exuberant and excited as Nyota's ever seen him, the handful of times she's been in the Engineering department with Gaila and he's been passing through.

"Do you know Spock's girlfriend?" Pike asks and Nyota realizes a beat too late, only after a silence that stretches for a second too long and everyone turns to her, that she, in fact, is who Pike is talking about.

"Hello," she says maybe a shade too quickly, but Olson doesn't seem to notice and eagerly reaches out to shake her hand.

"You're friends with – what's her name again?"

"Gaila."

"That's right," he says. "Great to see you here."

"And this is our helmsman, Lieutenant McKenna."

She knows she's staring, but the guy next to Olson that Pike just gestured to looks familiar. Really familiar, like she's run into him before, or he's always in the mess hall when she's there, or must go to the gym when she does.

Except that she's nearly entirely sure she doesn't know him from Starfleet, and what's even stranger is the way he keeps looking back and forth between her and Spock.

Then he gives her a tiny smile and she feels it drop through her like a stone.

"Hi," she says, the very sight of him bringing back the heavy beat of the club, skin slicked with sweat after hours of dancing.

He gives her that _grin_, the one that led her to letting him take her hand and pull her deeper into the crowd, led her to let him slide his hands around her waist and down to her hips as the music drummed around them and the crowd pushed them together.

"I didn't know you were…" he starts, then his eyes dart over her, and at Spock next to her again, and he draws himself up short. "Coming tonight."

Didn't know she was in Starfleet, she's guessing how that sentence went. They didn't get as far as names or any other type of introduction before she had finally left with Gaila, slightly disappointed that had been the end of the evening with him. He had given her his comm number with a shouted whisper that she should call him, but then it was midterms, and then finals, and then the whole thing with finding an advisor for her paper and she had pretty much forgotten about him.

"Nice to see you again," she gets out.

"You are acquainted?" Spock asks her quietly, McKenna's presence enough to finally pull his attention away from Puri.

"I'll tell you later," she whispers back, with no real intention of doing so but not exactly wanting to get into it. Spock just looks at her, then back at McKenna, who has sat on the other side of Hawkins, as far from her and Spock as he can get, and is talking to him a little too intensely.

"What are you discussing?" the Ambassador asks and Nyota feels herself wanting to shift in her seat under the piercing stare.

"Nothing."

"It was not nothing."

"It's private," Nyota says, firmer than she had intended.

The Ambassador continues to study her for a long moment and Nyota's thankful that when she speaks again, it's on a different topic.

"How is tea?"

"It's good, it's been good." She resists the urge, again, to elbow Spock, this time to get him to corroborate her statement. Maybe there's something to be said for telepathy, if she could somehow communicate to him that he should at least nod, but the last thing she wants to do is grab his hand. So, instead, she looks over at him and he gives her a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye in return. "Right?"

"What has been good, specifically?"

"Tea?" she asks and when he doesn't respond, she switches to Vulcan and drops her voice, trying to ignore the way Pike is watching her like he wants to start grinning again. "_She wants to know-_" she hesitates, trying to find a Vulcan word for the concept of enjoying something. "_If we are partial to the experience of… seeing each other. Passing time together. Your language really needs a word for… courtship. Wooing. Romance. Dating,_" she starts listing, slipping from Vulcan, which is useless, to other languages that she knows that Spock knows. "_Will you make a positive remark in that regard?_" she asks in Vulcan again.

"_Such as?_" he murmurs back, also in Vulcan.

"_The specifics of what you chose do not matter_."

"_More precise guidance would be preferable._"

"_You can inform her that the time we spend together presents you with an opportunity to learn Romulan._"

"_I could learn Romulan even without being in your company, were I so inclined._"

"_Then inform her that our interactions have given you the inclination to learn Romulan._"

"_Please explain why that would -_"

"_It would be logical to listen to my advice_," she says, trying not to snap because Vulcan doesn't exactly lend itself to doing so, and starts to launch into an explanation on how significant others often enjoy activities that they can do together when she's thankfully saved by a waiter bringing her a menu.

"Terran meat is sub par compared to the selections on Saiph Prime," the Ambassador says after giving her own menu a cursory glance.

"Is it," Nyota says carefully.

"I do not like chicken. Or pork."

"Have you tried bacon?" Nyota asks.

"It is cured and smoked. I prefer my food unadulterated."

"Oh. I guess that it is."

Nyota's never really thought about it, only having had replicated bacon and has half a mind to see if she can order some.

But it's not on the menu, though the selection that is available makes her mouth water. It puts her in mind of meals at her grandparent's house, their garden brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables that she would help bring in for supper.

"What are you getting?" she finally asks Spock.

"Why does it matter?" he asks, though it's thankfully quiet enough that his curt tone doesn't attract any attention.

"Never mind."

He probably memorized the menu as soon as he had it in his hands and it's been lying on his plate for the last few minutes while she's been studying her own, but she does notice that he glances at it again.

"Salad," he finally answers.

"Spock. You are not just getting a salad."

"Is that inappropriate? You did not say if-"

"Not it's just… look. Agnolotti with white alba truffle, castelmagno and cultured butter. Or, wow, risotto with chanterelles, tomatoes, and crescenza. I don't know what half of that stuff is, but it sounds delicious."

"If you do not know the ingredients, how do you know you will enjoy consuming it?"

"Because."

"That is not a sufficient answer."

"Too bad."

He looks down at the menu again, then up at her. "Those are not as nutritious."

She looks at him closely, ignoring the gale of laughter from down the table as Puri tells some story that has Stoyer and Olson in stitches, the Andorian's antennae waving back and forth and both humans with their hands over their mouths trying to stifle their laughter. Spock is a sharp contrast to them, all angled brows and perfect posture in his dress grays.

"Salad," she says again, softly, thinking back to the dozens of meals she's shared with him by now, the way he'll spend an inordinate amount of time making selections in the mess hall, or putting an overly complex order into the replicator. "Oh my God, Spock, you're a picky eater."

"I am not."

"You are," she says, feeling a grin tug at her mouth. "You eat bread and salad and plomeek soup and that's it."

"You observed me eat _pok'tar._"

"I observed you eat two thirds of it and push all the little… what were they? Like zucchini?"

"_P'la-savas_."

"_P'la-savas_ to the side. I bet your mom cut the crusts off your sandwiches."

"She did no such thing."

"Because, let me guess, Vulcans don't eat sandwiches?" He pauses, his mouth half open, before he snaps it shut and nods. "She would have, I bet." Nyota glances over the menu again before laying it on her plate, wanting to dig her elbow into his arm for completely different reasons than her earlier urge. "Well, suit yourself if you don't want to try something new. I'm getting the risotto. I bet it's phenomenal."

"It will not be," the Ambassador says, cutting into their conversation and Nyota only belatedly realizes the Saiph has just been sitting there watching Spock and her. "You should order meat."

"I don't actually eat much meat," Nyota explains. "Only sometimes."

"You should eat it for every meal."

"I'll, uh, take that under advisement, ma'am," Nyota says diplomatically.

"Taele."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Taele."

Nyota isn't quite sure what to say to that and darts a glance at Spock, who has one eyebrow raised and is basically no help at all.

"That's a beautiful name," she finally tells the Ambassador.

"It is not."

"Oh," Nyota nods. "Ok."

More than anything, Nyota wishes she were next to Hawkins. Or Stoyer. Or Puri, who keeps making that end of the table laugh in a way that has other diners glancing over at them more than once, instead of the rather stilted conversation Pike tries to keep up with the Ambassador, and the way that Spock seems content to just sit completely silent beside her.

At least Pike keeps her – and his – wineglass full.

Their food arriving is beyond welcome and Nyota has to resist the urge to rubberneck at what everyone ordered. It all smells incredible in a way that mess hall food never does, and it looks even better, everything carefully arranged on the plates. Such delicious food reminds her of the night she and Spock went to the Vulcan restaurant and she can't help but glance over at him next to her, the way that while everyone else is chatting and drinking wine and laughing more often than not, he's sitting silently except when she speaks to him, or the once or twice he's responded to a direct question of Pike's. Everything here is different than that night, the music is coming from a piano in the corner of the room, the lights are brighter – not bright, but brighter – the noise from other diners rising and falling in contrast to how the other Vulcans had been so incredibly quiet, and now that she thinks about it, it is maybe a little inefficient that they'll have to wait until after they're completely done eating to pay, and then wait around while the bill is processed.

"You ok?" she asks when Spock begins picking at his salad and she realizes she hasn't heard him say anything in way too long.

"Yes."

"What are you doing to your olives?"

"I do not wish to eat them," he says, continuing to carefully slide them into a neat row on the edge of his plate.

"Those are the best things ever," she tells him.

"That is an exaggeration."

"I'm not sure it is."

"They are repugnant," Taele informs both of them.

Repugnant is the way the Ambassador has both hands around a raw tenderloin and is taking enormous bites of it. At least Puri has mastered the use of a knife and fork in his time on Earth and he's delicately sawing at his own raw rib eye in a much less conspicuous manner.

To her surprise, Spock reaches for her bread plate and neatly scoops the olives on to it, placing it next to her again in one fluid manner.

"Thanks," she grins, already spearing one. "You don't know what you're missing, you know."

"I find that I am able to endure the rampant curiosity," he replies.

"That's funny, Spock."

"It was not intended to be amusing."

"Didn't think so," she responds, popping another in her mouth.

"You should not eat those," Taele tells her as she bites into another one.

"We have different digestive tracts," Nyota replies as politely as she can, which only earns her a rather disapproving look.

"You eat no meat," Taele says to Spock, her tone accusatory and disappointed all at once.

"That is correct."

"Commander," Olson says, leaning forward in his chair to catch Spock's attention. "On the ship, if meat is replicated is it then considered vegetarian?"

"It should be," Puri says, carefully slicing himself another bite of his steak. "It's barely meat, it tastes like dust."

"You should eat meat on the ship if it is vegetarian meat," the Ambassador tells Spock.

"I would prefer not to."

"You should," the Ambassador says again before turning to Olson. "And you should improve the replicators so that the meat does not taste of dust. The fact that it does is distressing. I do not approve."

"Our replicators are great," Olson says quickly. "Or they will be. Right now all the coffee is bright blue and I can't really figure out why."

"Anything's better than the Academy mess," McKenna says and Nyota watches the way Spock glances down the table towards him before turning back to his salad.

"At least our coffee's good," Stoyer says as she takes another bite of her chicken.

"Good?" Pike asks. "Good? Arlene, I'm still shocked that cadets get through four years of the Academy without developing ulcers from drinking that stuff."

"Well, now they're developing ulcers from having Spock has a professor," Stoyer says, grinning into her wineglass. "So the coffee's only part of it."

"I'm trying to decide if I would have passed any course that you taught," Pike says, leveling a long look at Spock.

"We're going to have him teach all of the sections of Interspecies Ethics next year. Those first years won't stand a chance."

"All of the sections?" Pike repeats. "C'mon, I need him too."

"And now we have to share with Uhura," Stoyer grins.

"That's not-" Nyota starts to say, then snaps her mouth shut and pokes at her risotto.

"That's not what?" Pike asks.

"Nothing," she says quickly, reaching for her wine before she can say anything along the lines of the fact that she will hardly continue to be a future contender for Spock's attention.

"How much time per week do you two spend together?" Taele asks as Nyota takes a long sip from her glass.

"Um…"

"What is the average amount of time that couples spend interacting on weekly basis?"

"I don't really know," Nyota says carefully, setting her wineglass back down but leaving her hand around the stem.

"Do you believe you exceed the amount spent by other couples?"

"It's, uh, it's different for everyone," she says.

"I am asking for you."

"Well…" she starts, then just spins her wineglass around instead of answering. Or kicking Spock under the table so that maybe he'll jump into the conversation and help her out.

"How many days per week do you see each other?"

"That's not…" Nyota starts, then gives into the urge to take another drink of wine. "That's not exactly a good way to estimate a relationship."

"Why not?"

"Because, ah, the…" She pauses and tries again to think of a good answer.

"How much time do you spend together in private?"

"Woah, now, don't need specifics," Pike says, grinning and holding up his hands, palms out.

"I am curious," the Ambassador says and Nyota is suddenly, horribly aware of how quiet the table is, everyone looking at her and Spock. Puri's actually grinning, and Nyota doesn't look but she doesn't think he's the only one.

"That's-" she starts, gripping her wineglass tightly and wishing that Pike would just pass her the bottle, which might make this topic bearable.

"It is none of your concern," Spock says, smoothly and firmly and Nyota lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Taele looks at him for a long moment, before turning her attention to Puri, who's grin quickly fades.

"And yourself?"

"We live together, it's different," he explains.

"You and the Cadet should live together," the Ambassador informs Spock. "It would facilitate more time spent in each other's company."

Stoyer looks like she's trying not to laugh, but at least she saves Nyota from having to say anything. "Cadets have to live in the dorms. Part of the Academy experience. Class bonding and all."

"You should have chosen to partner with someone your own rank, Commander."

"Aw, there's nothing more fun then the difficulties of dating an officer when you're a cadet," Puri says, grinning at his wife. "Keeps things interesting. We did it."

"When did you marry?"

"After his graduation," Stoyer says, returning Puri's smile with a soft one of his own.

"You will marry the Cadet after her graduation, then," the Ambassador says to Spock and this time when Nyota raises her wineglass, it's to hide her smile in it, the notion of marrying the Commander so far fetched that it crosses into just being amusing.

"Aww, Uhura likes that idea," Olson grins and Nyota's surprised her glass doesn't break with how quickly she puts it back on the table.

"What? No." She freezes when she realizes what she just said and how quickly she answered that. "I mean-"

"Just messing with you," Olson says with a laugh. "Anyways, it'd break Kirk's heart."

"You know Kirk?" Nyota groans, leaping maybe too quickly for a chance to change the topic, even if that new topic is that of her least favorite classmate.

"I love Kirk," Olson grins. "Kid's hilarious."

"Kirk," Pike says, his tone fond even as he shakes his head. "He is always talking about you, Uhura."

"He's under the misguided notion that we're friends." She turns to Olson and shoots him a grin of her own. "And I turn him down about three or four times a week, so he knows what's coming."

"Dunno, you might have competition, Commander," Olson says with a broad smile.

Spock's in the middle of chewing a cucumber when Olson says that and Nyota watches his throat work as he swallows. He doesn't respond, just drops his gaze back down to his plate and cuts a tomato into precise, bite sized pieces.

"Hardly," Nyota says lightly, thinking about maybe putting her hand on Spock somehow, but that's just too strange to actually do, and Olson's already laughing again and turning back to his own dinner, so the moment quickly passes. "_He was making a joke_," she says in Vulcan, when Spock still hasn't stopped cutting vegetables into perfect cubes, even though his language hardly has an accurate translation for the word 'joke' and she has to make do with something that roughly translates to 'a phrase used by other cultures to suggest amusement or to cause laughter'.

"_I am aware_."

"_I do not think he intended-"_

_"It is of no consequence."_

"Ok," she says in Standard, then digs her fork into her risotto. She doesn't bother to take another bite, though, just rests her fork on the edge of her plate and looks at Spock again. "_Do you wish to speak about it further_?"

"_No_."

"Ok," she says again. "Let me know if you do, I guess."

"If I desire to, I will," he says, slipping back into Standard as well, even as he stabs his fork into a piece of carrot.

"You survived," she tells him, later, when everyone's out on the sidewalk and she's pulled him a couple steps away from the group.

"Obviously."

"No, I meant…" She frowns at him. "You know what I mean."

"You did not have a chance to speak with Lieutenant Hawkins."

"I didn't… did I tell you I wanted to?" Nyota asks, squinting up at him and trying to remember.

"It was a logical deduction."

"Oh."

She looks over at where Hawkins and McKenna have their heads bent over their comms, Olson standing near them and looking between Pike and Spock like he's counting down the seconds until it's socially acceptable to go. Probably deciding which bar to go to, she guesses, looking at the way they're all standing to the side and talking quietly. Get a couple drinks, chat about the evening, and probably use the fact that they're in dress uniforms to substantially increase their chances of picking someone up. She's pretty sure that Spock would know the exact probability of going home with someone from a bar due to wearing dress grays, if he was the kind of guy to think about those things.

She imagines a different sort of evening, the type of which where she might have gone off with the group of men to see where the night took her. Gaila would, if she were here.

"Nyota?"

"What?" She glances back up at Spock and realizes he's been waiting for her to say something. "Oh, no, it's fine, I'll talk to him some other time. But, uh, thank you. That was thoughtful of you. And thank you for dinner."

"You are welcome," he says, then doesn't bother to specify which of her 'thank yous' it was for.

The younger officers are a sharp contrast to Stoyer, who's yawning, one hand covering her mouth and her other wrapped around one of Puri's, who already has his car keys out and is saying goodnight to everyone.

It makes Nyota want to yawn, too, or at least say something to Spock about being ready to go.

Before she has a chance, Taele appears next to them.

"I wish to see your ship," she informs Spock without preamble. "Now."

"I see," he says and it's funny, because something about the way he speaks is suddenly professional, and she didn't realize that brisk tone had even slipped from his voice. But even with that, none of his customary stiffness is evident in his frame. He seems more at ease, almost, like going up to the ship might be the one thing she's seen him ever do, other than maybe teaching, that he actually seems comfortable with. "Captain?"

Pike excuses himself from saying goodnight to Stoyer and Puri and comes over to them, already nodding. "Commander, you're available now?"

It doesn't seem like a question, more like a thinly veiled order, but Spock still nods.

"She will come too," the Ambassador says, extending one long finger towards Nyota.

"She won't, unfortunately. Security clearances and all, she doesn't have her commission and she obviously doesn't have your diplomatic status," Pike corrects. "Sorry, Cadet."

"Not at all, sir. You go ahead," Nyota says quickly, her hand ghosting the air next to Spock's arm, close enough she accidentally catches her palm on his elbow. She draws her hand back, flexing her fingers. "I can get myself home."

She says it before he can either refuse an opportunity to show the Ambassador the _Enterprise_ in the interest of driving Nyota back to her dorm, or forgetting all together that would be the polite thing to do for his ostensible girlfriend. She's fairly convinced it's an even chance either way and his expression doesn't exactly give any clues to what he's thinking.

"Spock drove you? We'll take you on the way," Pike offers. "The transporter station's on the other side of the Academy anyway. And speaking of-" Pike stops to grin over at Spock's car. "Commander. Keys."

"Sir?"

"That's an order."

"You cannot order me to surrender the keys to my own personal vehicle."

"Stickler for the rules, this one," Pike grins at Nyota, and something about the way he's so clearly, incessantly, affectionate towards Spock, despite how unresponsive and reticent the Commander is makes her smile back.

Spock can't be that much of a stickler, though, because he eventually surrenders his keys and slides into the backseat next to Nyota, Pike having offered the passenger seat to the Ambassador.

All the way back to the Academy, Spock's sitting a careful distance from her, his hand splayed on his thigh and not on the seat between them and not holding her own, and he doesn't look at, nor speak to her. More than once, she sees Pike glance in the rearview mirror at them and while he doesn't question their silence, she feels it stretch between them.

Finally, she leans over to Spock and tugs on his sleeve so that he'll lean down to her. Or that was her plan, since when he turns towards her all of a sudden their faces are too close together, the peculiar heat of his skin washing over her, and her nose brushing against his cheekbone when Pike takes a corner too hard. He freezes, his entire body going tense, and she pulls at his sleeve again, trying to get him to loosen up even as she focuses on not swaying into him again.

"Look," she whispers, putting her mouth close enough to his ear that Pike and Taele can't hear, but not so close she's in danger of actually touching him again. "You're going to have to walk me up to my dorm. They'll notice if you don't, ok? I know it's probably not logical, but it's this really archaic human tradition and it's already weird enough that we're just sitting here, not talking."

"I have nothing to say," he whispers back, his breath a wash of warmth across his cheek and she feels herself smile at his completely logical response.

"I know. Still."

She lets go of his sleeve and retreats to her own side of the car, and her suggestion pays off, since when they arrive at campus and Pike pulls into the parking lot behind her dorm, Spock unbuckles his safety belt and quickly crosses to her door.

"Have a nice night," she tells Pike and Taele. "It was wonderful talking with you, Ambassador. You as well, sir."

"Night," Pike says, turning around in his seat, his eyes crinkling as he smiles at her.

"Goodbye, human," Taele says.

Spock opens her door for her – she has to hand it to him, he has excellent manners no matter how ridiculous he probably finds most Terran customs- and, true to her instructions, walks with her to the steps of her dorm.

"I do not understand what was so special about the distance from the car to here," he states blandly, looking around like the answer is on the pavement beneath their feet.

"Trust me."

He glances back at the car and then at her.

"I do."

She smiles up at him. "Good."

He looks at the car again, then takes a step back from her.

"Goodnight, Nyota."

"Night, Spock. Thanks again for dinner."

He's turning to walk back and she's already taking a step towards the door of her dorm when Pike's voice rings out, clear and loud in the night air.

"C'mon, Spock, I'm not even watching."

"I do not-"

"Oh, God," she mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "No."

"At all," Pike adds, and when she looks up he's got the window rolled down and he's smiling. She can see Taele leaning across him to watch her and Spock.

"He expects us to kiss," Spock states blandly.

"Yep."

Spock glances at the car once more and Pike grins at him.

"Another normal, Terran gesture?"

"Yeah, I mean, especially saying goodnight or goodbye. Um, you haven't…" she trails off, her face growing hot.

"I have," he says quickly and she nods just as quick. "I was simply unsure how ordinary it is in this situation."

"Standard," she answers. "Conventional, really."

"I see."

"But you, know, Pike is just obviously messing with you, so-"

He touches her cheek and it feels like a question, one she doesn't know quite how to answer because she's so focused on the heat of his skin and the intent look in his eyes as he watches her. She opens her mouth to say no, that they shouldn't, that it's weird, or it's illogical or something like that, and he hesitates, starts to move away, but instead of saying any of those things, she finds herself nodding, the movement causing his finger to slip down from her cheek to her jaw.

The whole thing is fast, just his finger, warm, under her chin, and the soft press of his lips, warmer still, against hers, brief and cursory, all of it so perfunctory that she's not even sure it's happened until he pulls back, until the cool night air hits her face again and she finds that she has to open her eyes, unaware of having closed them.

There's probably something illogical about not quite looking at each other, afterwards, but he's the one who adheres to that principle for his life, so she has no problem staring somewhere past his shoulder until he turns and walks back to the car.

Gaila's not there when she gets back to their room, and Nyota thinks that's only because there was no way her roommate could have predicted what just happened. Nyota couldn't have either, and still rather can't believe it, no matter how long she sits on the edge of her bed, one of her heels in one hand and the other playing with her necklace as she stares into some middle distance, her mind racing and empty all at once.


	10. Chapter 10

She doesn't let herself hesitate as she walks over to the table he's chosen in the mess hall, nor does she let herself dwell on the fact that she's running a couple minutes late, since she wasn't exactly rushing to their meeting.

"Hi," she says and then can't really come up with what to say next, so she just puts her plate down across from him.

"Hello," he responds and thankfully, for once, doesn't comment on the fact that it's two hundred and forty four seconds, or however long, past when she's supposed to meet him. He's in his instructor blacks, which feel suitably ordinary after so much time spent with him in his dress grays and civilian clothes, like they've dialed everything back to meeting in uniform over lunch to discuss their work. It's an immense relief, to be doing something so normal again, to be in such a familiar setting with him as the Academy mess.

"How was the rest of your weekend?" she finally asks, after she's sat down and pulled her padds out, arranged her stylus, and put her napkin in her lap and he still hasn't said anything else. She looks up at him to see if he's even paying attention to her, but she finds she can only raise her gaze as far as the middle of his chest and when she realizes she's been studying his science insignia for a second too long, quite unable to actually meet his eyes, she quickly picks up her fork and focuses on her salad instead of him sitting there across from her.

"Satisfactory."

She pushes a carrot towards a small pool of dressing and swirls it around, making a mess on her plate but not particularly caring. "Good. That's good."

"Yourself?"

"Fine," she says, picking at a piece of lettuce. "Did you have a chance to read my outline? I sent you what I worked on."

"Yes, however I recommend that you expand the section that includes Desai's analysis. He has a number of other papers which would be suitable resources," he says smoothly and she wishes she had his preternatural calm about things, his ability to be completely unruffled and composed, rather than how her brain seems to stutter and catch as it has been for days now, on the way Pike grinned at them from his car, on how Taele had been watching them, on how collected Spock had been after-

"Which one would be best?" she asks abruptly, after realizing he's waiting for her to respond.

"A Prolegomena to the Study of Cardassian Sub-dialects."

"I've never heard of it but I can take a look at it," she offers, only to see that crease form between his brows.

"You read it for my class last semester."

"Oh. Right. That's right. I did."

"Do you not remember?" he asks and that crease deepens and he just watches her for a long moment. She feels her cheeks heat under the weight of his attention and the heaviness of how he's looking at her, in that way of his that makes her feel scrutinized.

"No, I do."

"Did you not gain a full understanding of the topic when you read it?"

"I did, I did."

"Then I do not understand-"

"Yeah, it's fine, I'll include it."

That earns her a raised eyebrow and his head tips slightly to the side. "You do not wish to argue about it further?" he asks and she thinks that there's maybe a note of incredulity in his voice, that she would acquiesce so quickly.

"I-" she starts, trying to get her brain to engage in a debate over whether or not she wants to use more of Desai's work in her paper, but she can't seem to actually focus on the topic, not with the way he's watching at her. "No."

"I see."

"Ok, then," she says. "Great."

She digs into her salad with more enthusiasm than it deserves and if she's a bit quieter than she usually is when they meet to discuss their work, it's not like he has much to say either.

"I can finish going over the Romulan conditional tense tomorrow," she tells him as she spears the last tomato on her plate. "I don't know if you're ready for it for the tutorial, but I just need a couple more hours in the lab and then I'll be done with it."

"Very well," he says, which doesn't really answer whether or not he needs her to complete it. She's about to ask him, but when she looks up from her plate she finds herself glancing at his mouth and studiously looks just about anywhere else. That somewhere else ends up being the door, which she is half thinking about leaving through and how nice it would be to be back in her room with Gaila, and not with Spock sitting across from her, and somewhere between imagining the peace and quiet of her own space and thinking about what her summer might have been like if she hadn't wanted to do this paper, and if she hadn't ended up doing it with Spock, she realizes that she's staring blanking at someone approaching them, and when she blinks, that person resolves themselves to be McKenna.

"I thought I might find you here," he says to her with that smile of his. She gives him a smaller one in return, slightly thrown by him showing up in the middle of her lunch with Spock and walking right over to them without preamble. "Hi, Commander."

"Lieutenant."

"How was it taking the Ambassador up to the ship?" he asks, shooting Nyota another quick grin.

"Uneventful."

McKenna just nods, that same smile pulling at his lips. After a moment of silence, Spock sits up even straighter, if that's possible, and skewers him with a look Nyota's seen directed at dozens of students during the semester she was in his class.

"Do you require assistance in some matter?"

"I…" he starts, then pauses to lick his lips, his smile faltering slightly. "Uhura, could I talk to you for a sec?"

She glances over at Spock, but his attention has already returned to his work.

"Sure," she says and follows McKenna halfway across the mess hall to the salad bar, where he fiddles with a pair of tongs set in a bin of lettuce.

"You having a good summer?"

"It's alright," she answers.

"Good, yeah, that's great."

She waits a beat but he doesn't say anything else.

"Yours?" she finally asks.

"Fine, fine. Went down to San Diego with Olson."

"Ok."

"We went surfing."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, we did."

She just nods and finds herself glancing over his shoulder towards Spock who's still bent over his work. Or not bent over, really, since she doesn't think she's ever seen him actually relax, but concentrating on his padd in that way of his, where he just studies something so intently that it seems to take up his entire focus.

McKenna clears his throat and fidgets with the salad tongs again. "So, I didn't know about you and, uh, the Commander."

"Oh, we weren't…" she starts, waving him off in a way that is hopefully more casual than it feels, since it's a bit strange to her that McKenna really thinks she's dating Spock. Not that that wasn't the point, but it's a bit odd to be so easily believed. "Not then."

"Ok, good," he says, nodding. "Good, good. I didn't want… One of my bosses and all."

"Of course."

McKenna nods again, rubbing his hands together and shooting a look over at where Spock's sitting.

"I just… you and him? Really?"

She feels something in her chest tighten. "Really."

"Just doesn't seem like your type," he says, that smile on his face again and one hip leaning against the edge of the salad bar.

"I've got to get back," she says, pointing at Spock.

"Yeah, hey, good to see you."

She just gives a small wave, the gesture more abrupt than it might have been.

When she pulls her chair back up to the table and picks up her stylus again, it's pretty impossible to ignore the way Spock's watching her.

"What?"

"You two are acquainted."

"It's not a big deal," she assures him, then watches the way his eyes dart to where McKenna's leaving through the door. She runs her teeth over her bottom lip and bends over her padd and when she speaks again, she doesn't look up at him. "He asked me out last semester and was just saying that he hoped it wasn't weird now. That's all."

"I see," Spock says. He's silent for so long that Nyota's already highlighted a paragraph and added a note next to it when he speaks again. "I was not aware he had expressed interest in dating you."

She's about to quip that she's not entirely sure the interest really revolved around 'dating' per se, but something in Spock's tone makes her rethink that.

"Well," she starts, then can't really figure out how to end that sentence so she settles for studying a filmplast. "The last draft of my outline was fine? If I go back over Desai's work and include more of it?"

"I said that it was."

"Right. Great. Then I'm going to start writing the rough draft of the paper itself."

"Very well."

"Ok." Silence hangs thick and heavy between them and she finally puts one padd on top of another, and then a third on top of those two. "I might go work in the library for the afternoon."

"Of course."

"See you later, then."

He just nods and doesn't look up the entire time she puts her belongings in her bag. If he watches her leave, she wouldn't know because she doesn't look back.

…

"Where were you?" Gaila asks that night. "I thought you two were buddy buddy in the mess hall today. I went there to find you."

"Library. I was writing. Wanted to focus."

"Hmmm," Gaila says, hands on her hips as she looks Nyota over.

"Remember that guy at the bar?" Nyota asks, casting about for a conversation topic that isn't Spock. There's only been one guy in recent memory, so Gaila quickly nods. "Pilot on the _Enterprise_."

"Really?"

"Really."

"No."

"Yep."

"That's…"

"A little awkward," Nyota supplies. "Kind of weird."

"I didn't even know he was in Starfleet."

"I didn't even know his name," Nyota shrugs, sitting on her bed and leaning down to unzip first one boot and then the other. "And he actually thinks Spock and I are dating. Which I guess is good, but it's… weird."

But Gaila's slowly smiling, twirling one red curl around her finger.

"So the last guy that you showed any interest in over the last… year? Two years? Five years? Ten?"

"Oh, shut up. I should have never told you."

"Works with the Commander," Gaila continues as if Nyota hadn't spoken. "Regretting you picked the wrong officer? Because the Commander has the dark and brooding thing down, but what's his name again?"

"McKenna," Nyota mutters.

"McKenna," Gaila says slowly, savoring the word. "He is… well he… that smile… and he can _dance_, Ny."

Nyota just ignores Gaila's continued analysis of McKenna while she pulls off her sweater, unzips her skirt and reaches for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Adonis? Would that be an apt description?"

"Did you just use the word 'apt?"

"Focus, Nyota, on men and not on vocabulary. Please."

"Sorry. I mean, I'm not, but I can pretend to be."

"Now. Ok. The Commander, though. Taller. Knows big words, which apparently is a necessity for you."

"You realize that I'm not actually deciding between the two, right? Happily, gleefully single over here."

"Three times as strong as a human, which ugh, Ny. Come on. Also, there's basically no way that man isn't amazing in bed."

"Gaila…"

"Zero chance."

"Gaila."

"And, I heard once that Vulcans have huge-"

"Gaila!"

"Capacities for endurance. What did you think I was going to say?"

"I really don't need to think about the Commander like that."

"Also, touch telepathy. Have I sufficiently explained to you the advantages of telepathy? Because I met this Deltan a couple years ago-"

"I got the gist of it," Nyota interrupts, her tone sharper than she intended. "Sorry, I just meant-"

"What happened?" Gaila asks, her eyes narrowing and Nyota feels her stomach drop.

"Nothing."

"Don't 'nothing' me, Nyota 'I pretend to have private business but I really want to talk about it' Uhura."

"First of all, you know my middle name. Second, I sometimes don't want to talk about things."

"First of all, you totally do want to talk about this. And second – Hey! Stop! Don't go brush your teeth to get out of this conversation!"

"Too late," Nyota says, already halfway to the bathroom. "Dental hygiene. You should try it some time."

"You're the species with gross teeth! Having to actually brush them because your enzymes don't just take care of that!" Gaila's shouting but Nyota drowns it out by closing the door.

It's not until her teeth are clean, her face washed, and her hair brushed that she goes back into their room, only to find Gaila in her own pajamas, sprawled out on her bed.

"What?" Nyota asks, frowning at the way Gaila's frowning at her.

"What happened the other night?"

"I ate a ton, it turns out Puri has a great sense of humor, and the Ambassador was, for Terran culture, exceptionally rude. I told you all of this."

"What else happened?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing, nothing?"

"Nothing," Nyota confirms, pulling back the blankets on her bed and slipping between them.

"Kind of shocking to see McKenna there?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Awesome to meet Hawkins?"

"Didn't find a time to talk with him much."

"You realized that I was right that Pike is totally hot?"

"Uh. He's not bad looking?"

"He's no Commander," Gaila sighs.

"Literally, no, he's not. He's a captain," Nyota says, which gets a much heavier and longer sigh out of her roommate.

"Did you continue to let the Dean know you're her number one fan girl?"

"I am not. I just think she's had a pretty incredible career for how young she is. Probably hasn't been waylaid by terrible roommates over the years, which would have helped. And she and Puri are an adorable couple."

"Isn't that so sweet. Interspecies romance at it's best."

"It is. You know, despite the Federation and Starfleet's commitment to diversity and integrating cultures, there's really so few examples of-"

"Oh, save it. What'd the Commander wear? You never told me all these details, you know. You just came back and were all, 'fine, it was fine, so fine, super fine, the finest fine that has ever been fine'."

"Dress grays," Nyota answers, shooting a glare over at her roommate.

"Pike in a dress uniform. The Commander. McKenna. How did you keep your panties on?"

"Not that difficult, it turns out."

"You are super human, Nyota 'I am immune to the attractiveness that is senior officers in their super hot uniforms' Uhura."

"They're colleagues, Gaila, I'm not going to start mooning over them. Lights," she says, plunging them into the dark.

"You could use some mooning, you know," Gaila says before Nyota hears her pull her blankets up around herself.

It's blessedly, wonderfully silent for several long minutes, until Nyota hears Gaila shift against her sheets.

"You two kissed, didn't you?" Gaila asks into the dark of their room, her voice soft and gentle.

"How do you do that?" Nyota asks, nearly sitting up.

"Oh, stop, I figured it out days ago. So?"

"So what? Also, I hate you."

"You love me. And what was it like?"

"A kiss?"

"Yeah, what was the kiss like."

"Like a kiss."

"No but…" Gaila sighs heavily and Nyota hears her kicking at her blankets. "But what else."

"Nothing else. It was just a kiss. Not one I'm particularly interested in talking about with you, as it so happens."

"A good one?"

"I don't know. It was fine I guess."

"Fine?"

"Fine."

"But he's so hot."

Nyota remembers the warmth of his fingers, the wash of heat from his face so close to hers.

"Yeah."

"Lights!"

Nyota presses her palms to her eyes against the sudden glare. "Gaila! C'mon!"

"You admit he's hot? Finally!"

"No, I meant… I'm going to sleep."

"I knew it," Gaila whispers triumphantly after turning off the light again. "I totally knew it."

Nyota ignores her, rolling over on her side so that she's facing the wall and pulling the blankets up to her chin despite the relative warmth of the room. She listens to the familiar sounds of Gaila punching at her pillow and twisting this way and that in her sheets, trying to get comfortable in a Terran bed that's so different than the nest of cushions and blankets she described from her home.

But try as she might to go to sleep, Nyota can't settle the jump that seems to have taken up permanent residence in her stomach or school the pounding of her heart.

"It's just weird," she finally says to the wall and the sounds from Gaila's bed immediately stop.

"Do you wish it didn't happen?"

"No, I…" she starts, then stops, staring into the dark. "Yes. No. I don't know. I don't think I ever exactly expected any of this. We were just supposed to be meeting for coffee and tea and doing work, not going out to dinner and… "

Nyota doesn't finish that sentence and Gaila's quiet for a long moment, until Nyota hears her hair drag across her pillow as she shifts around again.

"Is the problem that you liked it?"

Nyota lets out a long breath. "I don't want this to get complicated with him."

"Nyota, you're in a fake relationship with your ex-professor, who is half-Vulcan, the XO of the ship you're determined to be assigned to, and is also your research advisor and you two have already broken up once this summer."

Nyota huffs out a long breath of air. "We didn't break up, we were never-"

"It's complicated," Gaila declares, going back to kicking at her blankets. "But you've always loved a challenge."

…

"You're the one working on this?" Commander Ho asks when she finds Nyota bent over a console in the linguistics lab.

"Sorry, sir?" Nyota asks, straightening and blinking, trying to focus on the Commander, rather than the screen she's been staring at for hours now.

"I heard Commander Spock was helping a cadet configure a new language tutorial, but didn't hear who exactly he was working with," Ho says, coming to stand behind Nyota in order to stare over her shoulder at the monitor. "Looks like you're making good progress, these are tough to do especially since I don't think you've done one before, right?"

"No, sir, I haven't."

"Of course I'm not surprised that you're the one working with the Commander," Ho says, walking around Nyota's chair and leaning against the edge of the monitor so that they're face to face and Nyota can see the small smile playing over the other woman's mouth. "He's your advisor on your paper too? After Carrick transferred?"

"Yes he is."

"And that's going well?"

"Yes, sir, very much so."

"Good, good," Ho says, nodding. She gives Nyota another small smile, then draws in a breath and pauses before speaking again. "And I have to ask. You two weren't… when you were in his class?"

"What?" Nyota asks, blinking up at her. "Working together? We started both projects this summer."

"I don't think the two of you would, of course," Ho says quickly. "But as department head I have to know."

"Know what?" Nyota asks.

"If you were, ah, seeing him while you were still his student."

"What?" Nyota repeats, then draws in a deep, short breath, feeling her perception of the conversation reorient. She never would have thought that Ho of all people would have found out about what was going on with her and Spock and maybe it makes sense as he teaches in the department, but she's not on the _Enterprise_ and Nyota doesn't think Ho has ever seen them together, and the idea of this ruse actually working well enough that she would have heard about them makes her head spin. Ho seems separate from everything that's going on with Spock this summer, a professor and officer Nyota knows from her own work, as if her real life should be able to resume when she's not with him, as if she should be able to step right back into the Xenolinguistics department with no consequence of having spent the summer with Spock.

"I'm sorry to have to ask," Ho is saying and Nyota realizes she still hasn't answered the question, has been to busy thinking about the fact that she doesn't like how she and Spock have done such a good job that Ho actually believes the fallacy, not when the entire thing is a fabrication and now the other woman legitimately thinks they're an item, when she never should have known about any of this in the first place.

"We weren't seeing each other during the semester," Nyota finally gets out, not mentioning the part where they're not really, technically, seeing each other at the moment, either. Except that they are. Ostensibly.

"Of course you weren't," Ho says quickly, looking maybe a bit relieved, and then gives Nyota a small smile. "And you're definitely not the first couple to get together like that, the minute finals are over, you know. Gives you something else to look forward to at the end of a long semester right?" Ho asks with a grin.

"I, uh…" Nyota starts, then just presses her lips together and nods.

"And I'm happy for you two," Ho continues, pushing off the console and standing again.

"Thanks," Nyota says, after trying and failing to find anything better to say.

"He's a great guy, as you obviously know," Ho says and Nyota just mutely nods. The other woman pauses, then her smile grows. "I want to – No, never mind."

"Is there something can I help you with, sir?"

"I want to ask all about it," Ho says in a rush, then holds up both hands and shakes her head. "But I can't, I won't."

"About…" Nyota echoes, then blinks. "Oh, about-"

"None of my business," Ho says firmly.

"It's not…" Nyota starts, finding herself floundering for words in a way that she never does around Ho, since she's easy to talk to, and is a great department head, and because they're normally talking about classes or work and not the story of how she and Spock purportedly started dating. "It's not that interesting, honestly," she tells the other woman because the amount of tea they drink and having lunch is really pretty boring, even if she can feel her neck flush, feel her skin prick with warmth like it did when he took a step closer to her in the quiet outside her dorm and-

"Good luck with the rest of your work today, Uhura, let me know if you need anything, I'll be in my office," Ho is saying and Nyota makes herself nod, wondering if she's missed part of what the Commander was telling her, but she's unable to shake the fuzziness that has suddenly set up residence in her brain in order to figure it out.

"Yes, sir," she answers quickly, waiting for Ho to leave before letting out a long breath she didn't know she was holding, a small knot of concern forming in her stomach.

Her face feels a little warm and her mind feels like it won't stop racing, her thoughts churning over how Ho legitimately thinks she and Spock are together. Dating. Seeing each other. In a relationship. And that they really, truly like each other. Find each other attractive. Want to spend time in each other's company, get along well, probably talk all the time. And were waiting until the end of the semester like it couldn't come soon enough, likely counting down the days until they could be together.

She drops her head to her palm and closes her eyes, and it takes a long time to settle her thoughts enough that she can return to her work.

…

"Free food, this should be an obvious choice," Gaila says, hands on her hips and both eyebrows raised. "Aren't you like some type of genius?"

"I also now have two simultaneous projects going on this summer."

"And I'm sure you couldn't be happier," Gaila responds, leaning over Nyota and stacking up her padds full of Romulan and mixing them in with her padds of research for her paper.

"Hey! I just got those organized!"

"And you can organize them again later, I'm doing you a favor, really, since I know how much you love rearranging things on your desk until they're perfectly perfect."

"That's not-"

"And the other favor I'm doing for you after a long hard day of you working is getting you food, that is free, and not made in the mess hall."

"But I don't-"

"You can thank me later," Gaila promises.

"Where are we even going?" Nyota asks when Gaila's dragged her all the way over to HQ and through the maze of buildings there.

"It's this thing I found out about," Gaila says, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and squinting at the buildings next to them. "Over here."

The building is one of Starfleet's reception halls and the room in it that Gaila leads them into is completely packed with officers and other staff members, plus a handful of other cadets so maybe she and Gaila aren't the only students who are at the Academy over the summer, bored and seeking out a nicer dinner than what the mess offers.

"What is this for?" Nyota asks, trying to keep up with Gaila, who has started into the crowd and is pushing her way towards a table laden with food.

"Yum," Gaila declares, rubbing her hands together and staring at all the food, her eyes wide. "Wow. Yum yum yum."

"What is this for, really?" Nyota asks. "And how exactly do you know about this?"

"Is that… is that a fountain of chocolate?" Gaila breathes, her hand tight around Nyota's upper arm as she pulls on her in order to get closer to it. "Is that… real?"

"I think so. Gaila, where are we?"

"Standing in front of… this," Gaila says, her eyes wide. "Think I can get a cup? We need a cup. Now. Quickly. As soon as possible. Super ASAP."

"Gaila…"

"It's the recommissioning of the _Farragut_, Captain Hill just got given command and now we're at the party. And we need a cup."

"Who?"

"Captain Hill," Gaila says, slowly, drawing out the syllables. "Cup, cup, cup, Ny."

"I don't know him."

"Her. Super hot. Also her wife is like… ugh, Ny, she's like… I just…" Gaila lets out a long, wistful sigh. "Puts the Commander to shame, I'm telling you. She is just.-"

"I get the picture."

"But did you get a cup?"

"You're not supposed to use a cup," Nyota says, pointing to the fruit and small cookies set on the table. "Use those. No- no, Gaila, not your finger, just-"

"This is so good!"

"Do you need a napkin?"

"You have to try this Ny, it's better than sex. Well, some sex. I mean, not sex with me but how I imagine sex is like when I'm not involved."

"I'm going to get you a napkin," Nyota says, but when she turns towards the end of the table to retrieve one, she nearly runs right into Stoyer. "Sir," she says automatically, trying to cover her surprise at seeing the Dean there.

"Uhura, fancy seeing you here," Stoyer says with a wide smile.

"Nice to see you again," Nyota says, trying to find the right words even though she feels slightly thrown from being at a party with so many senior staff, and now that she's spent so much time with Spock, senior staff that she actually knows. And who know her. And say hi to her since it's only been a handful of days since they were out at a dinner together and as great as it is for her career to get to know the Dean or not, Nyota has a fleeting, wistful longing for how anonymous she used to be in such a crowd.

"I'm Gaila," Gaila says, sticking out her– thankfully clean – hand for Stoyer to shake. "I have very proudly never been called into your office."

"Hello. And congratulations on that, I suppose."

"A couple close calls," Gaila admits in a whisper.

"I'm sure I don't want to know," Stoyer says quickly. "Uhura, Puri just got here."

Nyota just nods slowly, unsure of why Stoyer just told her that. "Ok."

"He said the meeting with Pike was a lot longer than they thought it'd be."

"Right."

"I think they were reviewing the availability of Spacedock's construction crews, since the _Hood_ just docked for repairs," Stoyer continues. "Though I'm sure Spock's told you all about it."

"He hasn't mentioned it," Nyota says before she thinking that maybe it would have been better to be silent about the matter, rather than suggest that they don't actually talk about their days or what's going on with their work.

But Stoyer just laughs. "I might be jealous, Puri won't stop about how they haven't finished putting together Sickbay. You don't have to hear about every single nuance of the ship each and every time you and Spock have a conversation?"

"We don't-" she starts, then stops herself from saying that she really hasn't seen much of him lately. Not since the past weekend at dinner, and then that lunch when McKenna ran into them, and then the last few days when they've sent a couple messages back and forth, but other than that she hasn't exactly sought him out and he hasn't suggested getting together either.

"They're always talking about verbs," Gaila says quickly. "Boring, right?"

"Well, never thought I'd get tired of hearing about the _Enterprise_, but there you have it," Stoyer says. "I think they went to get a drink."

"Sorry?" Nyota asks when Stoyer seems to be waiting for her to say something. "What?"

"Puri and Spock went to get a drink. Or, well, Puri went to get one and they can't seem to be more than five feet from each other whenever they're together, so Spock went too."

It still takes her another moment to process that she's probably expected to react to that news, and then a long beat before she realizes that she's supposed to be excited about the fact that he's there.

"Great, great," she says, probably too quickly. "I didn't know that he was even-"

"We just got here too," Gaila says, speaking over her. "Someone had to finish her work. And that obviously wasn't me."

"What dedication," Stoyer says with a smile.

"No wonder the Commander likes her, right?" Gaila adds with a wide grin. "Two legumes in the same capsule."

"I don't know what that-"

"Hi!" Gaila says to someone standing behind Nyota, interrupting Stoyer, who is left with a slightly puzzled look on her face, and then Spock is standing right there next to Nyota, holding a glass of what looks like water, and when he looks at her, his expression threatens towards something like surprise before it's completely blank again.

"Hi," she says and realizes only belatedly that she should probably be happier to see him.

"I'm Gaila," Gaila says to Puri, holding out her hand to hjm and grinning when he shakes it.

"This is Gaila," Nyota confirms, then shakes herself and tries to remember what's supposed to happen next in a normal conversation, a conversation where fake boyfriends don't appear out of the crowd at parties her terrible roommate made her go to. "Gaila, this is Doctor Puri."

"If Orions and Andorians had babies, what color would they be?" Gaila asks him.

"I'm – I'm married," he says, pointing at Stoyer.

"I didn't ask you if you were married, I asked what color the babies would be. Not our babies, obviously."

"I-"

"Aren't you a doctor?"

"Teal?" Puri asks.

"Is that a question?"

"I don't… know?"

"I was not anticipating your attendance," Spock says, quietly, so that neither Stoyer nor Puri seem to notice or to hear him.

"I wasn't either," she says, nodding her chin towards Gaila. "I'm here under duress."

"Truly?"

"No."

"I do not understand."

"Don't worry about it," she says, not feeling like explaining. "I admit, I didn't really think this was your scene."

"Pardon?"

"That you liked parties," she corrects.

"I do not."

"Then why are you here?" she asks him.

"Captain Hill was my classmate at the Academy."

"I thought you weren't friends with any humans."

"I am not."

"Then why …" She lets out a long breath of air and crosses her arms. She glances at the others, then up at Spock and drops her voice even further.

"I think Stoyer expected me to know that you were coming to this," she says and only realizes she's been chewing on the inside of her lip when it starts to hurt.

"I had not thought to inform you of that fact," Spock says and Nyota just shrugs.

"Well, it's not like I did either," she says, trying to remember what it was like to have a boyfriend, how much she would really tell him about her day and what she was up to. A lot, she thinks, but she can't really remember, and wonders if she would have invited him to come with her to something like this. Yes, probably, which just makes he sigh again, this time in Gaila's general direction for forcing her out of their room. She reaches out and touches her roommate's shoulder, thinking that maybe she should be trying to talk to Spock longer, but it's not her fault that he showed up at a party that Gaila dragged her to. "Hey, I'm going to go get a drink."

"I'm coming!" Gaila says quickly, waving a cheerful goodbye to Stoyer and Puri.

"White wine," Nyota tells the bartender when they make they've made their way across the room to the bar.

"You're in a bad mood," Gaila informs her after ordering her own drink. "And look at all these delicious officers here. How can you be so grumpy?"

"I'm not grumpy," Nyota says, taking her wineglass from one of the bartender's tentacles. "I just want to be back in our room working."

"You have been grumpy all week," Gaila corrects. She digs an elbow into Nyota's arm and gestures towards a knot of men. "Wow. Let's go say hi. They could cheer anyone up."

"No, I-" Nyota starts, sparing them only a glance before starting to tell Gaila that she doesn't want to. Then she looks at them again and sighs. "Gaila, I can't."

"Why not? We're just going to talk. Or you're just going to talk, I'm going to hopefully do more than that."

"Because," she says, nodding her head back towards where they left Spock.

"Well want to go talk to him, then?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," she says again.

"That's not an answer, Nyota 'I have a vocabulary that's too big to even be useful' Uhura."

"It's weird."

"What's weird? Teal Orion Andorian babies? Because that's not weird, that's awesome," Gaila says, taking a long sip from her drink.

"They think we're dating. Puri and Stoyer, and McKenna, too. And Commander Ho."

"So?"

"No, they really, really think we're actually dating. As in Stoyer thinks that Spock and I talk all the time and Ho was talking about how we were waiting for the end of the semester to get together and McKenna was really uncomfortable about it."

"Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes? I guess?"

"So what's the problem?"

Nyota stares down into her glass, swirling the liquid around this way and then that before she takes a small sip.

"I think I want all of this to be over."

"Over? That's a change in tune from last week, Nyota 'I'm going to become best friends with every officer ever' Uhura." Gaila reaches out and pokes her arm, like she can determine what has possibly gone wrong, which makes Nyota just take another sip of wine and press her lips together.

"That was before everything."

"Everything?" Gaila echoes. "Do I need to start carrying your thesaurus around for you? Use specifics, Nyota 'I know every word-"

"It feels a little bit rude, to lead them on like that," she interrupts.

"Well it is," Gaila shrugs and Nyota frowns at her.

"C'mon, Gaila, say something to make me feel better."

"You're kind of making this whole thing up," Gaila says, shrugging again, then tipping her head to the side in a way that makes her look so much like Spock that Nyota half wants to just walk away. "But, then again, the Commander is totally hot and I know that you know that, and you two totally made out-"

"We didn't," Nyota hisses, unable to help but glance around quickly to see if anyone heard that. "Gaila! It was basically nothing."

"No 'nothing' of a kiss has ever thrown you this off kilt-"

"-Kilter-"

"-Before."

"I should never have told you," Nyota says into her wineglass, taking a long sip from it.

"But you did," Gaila says with a huge grin. "And I'm so happy about it. You two smooching, not you not telling me, which you should have done that night, with like a priority one comm call, or by sprinting across campus to tell me the news, or waiting up all night for me to get home. This stuff is important, Ny."

"People are now going have always thought we dated," Nyota says, sighing into her wineglass and ignoring her roommate. "Even when classes start again, and next semester and next year and-"

"Wow, the entire Academy is not on the comms talking about you and Commander Cutie Cake, you two are not as interesting as you think you are."

"Pie. Or pants, Gaila, not cake."

"But you can decorate cakes so that they're cute," Gaila frowns. "Like a kitten cake. Or with rats and spiders. Adorable."

"What if I don't want everyone to know that I dated the Commander for a couple months?" Nyota asks. "This will have always happened, he'll be my ex and people will know that and I don't know how long this is going to drag on and-"

"-So what, some other tall, dark and handsome officer is going to come along, who's also a genius and is an expert in your chosen field and can talk about conjugations and parts of speech until the bovines return to their domiciles? And he's going to care that you dated the Commander? Maybe you should have thought about that when you came up with this whole plan."

"Me? My plan? Did you forget that you were the one to-"

"Oh, look," Gaila says, standing on her toes to peer over the crowd. "Your favorite person ever!"

"If you're talking about Spock again, he's not-"

"The Ambassador," Gaila says gleefully. "And look, Captain Pike – wow he's so hot! Let's go say hi!"

"No," Nyota groans, but Gaila's hand is firm on her arm and before Nyota can even start to put up a fight, she's halfway across the room and Gaila's trying to shake the Ambassador's hand.

"No," Taele says loudly, taking a step backwards.

"Shucks. Shoot. Whichever. I'm Gaila," she says, turning to Pike and shaking his hand instead, his expression somewhere between bemused at Gaila's enthusiasm and strained whenever he looks at the Ambassador.

"Nice to see you again," Pike says, giving Nyota a small smile.

"You as well, sir," she answers and can't help but notice that Puri has his hand on Stoyer's back and that Spock is on their other side and she thinks that maybe she should walk over there and stand next to him but she doesn't find herself moving to actually do that.

"We were just explaining this type of party to the Ambassador," Pike says. "And – ah, there you are!" Pike has a genuine grin on his face, wide enough that it makes his eyes shine as he embraces a woman who's a good head shorter than Nyota, clapping her on the back and then holding her at arm's length. "Congratulations, Captain."

"Thank you," the other woman responds. "I'm glad you could make it, all of you."

"I'm Gaila," Gaila says, holding out her hand again.

"Hill," the other woman responds.

"Captain Hill," Puri corrects, stepping around Stoyer to give the new captain a hug of his own. "Look at you, so important these days, and to think that during second year you-"

"Can I now order you to never repeat anything we got up to that year?" Hill asks, squeezing Puri tightly before stepping back.

"Yes, sir," he replies smartly. "Of course, sir, very good, sir."

"Congratulations," Spock says quietly and Hill gives him a wide smile.

"Thanks, Commander. Any chance you want to jump ship and join the _Farragut_'s crew? We could use you, you know."

"No poaching my staff so soon," Pike says, slinging his arm over Hill's shoulders and smacking her on the back again.

"You are tolerable," Taele says, cutting into the conversation and skewering Hill with that piercing stare.

"Sorry, I'm what?" Hill asks, blinking up at her.

"Long story," Pike says, shaking his head. "This is Ambassador Taele, from Saiph Prime. And you know Arlene of course-"

"So happy for you," Stoyer adds quickly and Hill grins at her.

"And this is Cadet Uhura," Pike continues. "Spock's girlfriend."

That introduction makes her bristle, the thought that she's being presented as someone's significant other making something tighten in her chest, but she puts on a smile and holds out her hand.

"Congratulations," she says and Hill shakes her hand enthusiastically.

"So, so nice to meet you, Uhura," she says, grinning back and forth between Nyota and Spock. "Wow. That's so great."

Nyota tries to imagine if she were really with Spock, if she was standing next to him and maybe leaning into him like Stoyer is with Puri, if her smile at being introduced as his girlfriend was real and not forced, if she was thrilled to be there with him, but all she can think about is someday applying to work on the _Farragut_, or meeting Hill again years from now, and the other woman thinking that she had actually dated Spock.

That thought makes her slip behind Puri and Stoyer and catch Spock's eye when he glances at her.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" she asks.

He follows her into the crowd, far enough away from the rest of the group that they can't be overheard, the conversations around them rising and falling and becoming indistinct, so that it's a wall of white noise to shield their conversation.

"This is weird," she declares, gripping her wineglass and staring up at him.

"Pardon?"

"I don't like this."

"What, specifically?

She glances back at where everyone's still talking, Gaila gesturing wildly and Puri saying something that makes everyone but Taele laugh. "They all think we're dating."

"Was that not our goal?"

She lets out a long breath and crosses her arms. "I think I'm realizing that pretending to date an officer in Starfleet involves people in Starfleet actually thinking I'm dating an officer."

"That was unclear?" he asks slowly, his eyebrow starting to rise and she wants to reach up and press it back down, wants to bury her face in her hand, wants to walk out of the crowded room, head to her dorm, and never look back.

"I didn't want anyone to actually know," she tries to explain.

"You were the one who suggested I tell my colleagues. And you also suggested attending the dinner."

"But still," she says and she's a linguist and should be able to come up with a better explanation but she can't, not right then, can't find the words to express the strange knot of anxiety and disquiet that has lodged somewhere deep in her gut for days now.

"Those words used in conjunction with each other are illogical."

"No, I mean yes. Look, they all-" she says, gesturing to the room at large. "They all think- and Commander Ho, too, and now Captain Hill and-"

"You do not wish them to know that you and I are seeing each other?"

"I just feel bad for all of them, like we're leading them on," she finally says softly, raising one shoulder towards her ear. "Like it's not fair to them, that they think this is real between us and…" She trails off and shrugs again, staring somewhere past him and swallowing, hard.

"I see."

"I know I said we weren't going to lie, back when we started all of this, and I haven't, I don't think, but this really blew up, a lot, and more and more people know and-"

"What does it mean to 'blow up?' Is it a violent occurrence?"

"Expand. Get bigger."

"Ah." She watches the way he looks at her closely for a long moment, his attention on her heavy and focused before he speaks again. "You are quite troubled."

"I'm fine," she says, then closes her eyes for a moment and tries to take a deep breath, but it's hard to do. "I just don't want this to become more complicated than it is already."

It's vague, maybe too vague for him to understand, but instead of raising an eyebrow or doing that thing where he tips his head to the side like a giant, half Vulcan question mark, he surprises her by just nodding.

"I agree."

"You do?" she asks, slightly taken aback.

"While I do not share your assertion regarding the incongruous nature of our associates' assumptions-"

"-You can just use the word 'weird', Spock-"

"-If you do not want to complicate matters, then neither do I."

"Ok," she nods. "Good. Thanks."

"Of course."

She finds herself squinting up at him. "Are you being nice to me?"

"I am being logical. "

"Oh." She takes a small sip of her wine and studies it for a long moment, and when she looks up at him again she feels something ease between them.

When they rejoin the others, she's standing right next to him, Puri on her other side and crowded close enough that she has to be careful to maintain a couple inches between her and Spock. It's still warm in the room and the heat and the lull of the conversation has her mind drifting towards things other than the conversation, has her thinking of how relieved she is that she and Spock seem to be on the same page. She feels immeasurably better, better than she has in days, really, ever since she woke up on Sunday morning with the half remembered feeling of the warmth of his skin, the coolness of the night air, the way he-

"Sorry?" Nyota asks when she realizes Hill's been talking to her and she hasn't been listening in the slightest.

"I was saying that it'll be so much fun," Hill says, sounding like she's repeating herself. "And Pike's place is so nice."

"What will be so much fun?" Nyota asks, looking around for clarification, but everyone else seems to understand what's going on, even Gaila, who's giving Nyota a slow grin, her eyes bright and shining.

"This weekend," Stoyer says. "I can't wait."

"This weekend?" Nyota repeats.

"You will attend," Taele informs her and Spock, leaving the Commander's eyebrow half raised and Nyota squinting in confusion.

"I'm sorry," Nyota says, blinking up at Spock for an answer, but he's just staring between the Ambassador and Pike, unmoving and silent.

"Yourselves, as well as Doctor Puri and Dean Stoyer will attend," Taele continues, throwing a haughty, disapproving look at Pike, her robes swishing around her in indignation that the captain still seems to be single. "Captain Hill, you are welcome to come as well, along with your wife."

"I wish," Hill sighs. "But duty calls."

"You are not joined," the Ambassador says to Gaila, who just shrugs.

"Nope, I'm not."

"And are therefore not invited."

"Shucks. Shoot. Which is it, Ny? Is using one better than the other? And whatever, I have plans for this weekend."

"I don't understand," Nyota says slowly, looking around at everyone.

"I mentioned having the bridge crew out to my place in Mojave and the Ambassador thought it would be a great idea, especially after that lovely dinner. She's really excited," Pike explains tightly, looking like he's forcing a smile. "And your presence, Cadet, has been… requested. Vehemently."

"The cadet is currently occupied by completing a rough draft of her project," Spock says smoothly.

"I have my paper," she confirms, glancing up at him and giving him a tiny smile in thanks.

"You will attend," Taele says.

"Bring it," Pike suggests.

"You must attend," Taele adds. "You have no choice in the matter."

"We need to complete our work on the Romulan language tutorial," Spock says.

"Now that's dedication," Stoyer grins. "But c'mon you two, we want to hang out with you both."

"Your focus should be on each other, not on your work," Taele says, her dark eyes flicking back and forth between Nyota and Spock in a way that makes her want to shrink away, but the only place to go in the crowd is closer to him.

"Isn't that sweet?" Puri grins. "Country air, a chance to escape your padds and filmplasts…"

"We don't-" Nyota starts.

"I do not believe that-" Spock begins.

"You two are coming," Pike informs them in a tone that brokers no argument and in that moment Nyota fully understands why he is the one person that Kirk listens to.

Nyota feels a pit opening inside her stomach, feels that gaping yawning inside of herself, feels like she's reeling, her head spinning and no words coming that will explain that she and Spock really, really can't do this, that it was never the plan, that she was never supposed to be at a crowded party with him, never supposed to have so many people actually think they're together, never supposed to have stood outside her dorm with him, had him bend down and-

There's a hand on her shoulder and she thinks it must be Gaila, but it's Spock touching her and it's so sudden and foreign that she barely keeps herself from twitching away. But his touch is warm and firm and the longer his hand stays there the more if feels like it's the one unyielding thing in the room, like he's the only other person in this with her, the only other one who's going through the exact same thing she is.

"_I-_" she starts, and only realizes she's said it in Vulcan when he responds in kind. "_No, Spock, we're not doing this. We need a reason to stay here_."

"_We perhaps should consider alternative paths to avoid such a weekend than just the fact of other commitments_," he says quietly.

"_What do you suggest?_" she asks, trying to calm the jump in her stomach and the way her palm is sweating on her wineglass. This entire evening, the whole day – or week, really – has been too much and standing there with all of his coworkers, and with Captain Hill and the Ambassador, and Gaila who seems unwilling to invent some type of wild, scarcely believable scenario to help her out, is just making it that much worse.

"_Unclear_."

"_That is not helpful, Spock._"

"_I apologize._"

She turns slightly farther away from the group, which brings her closer to him but that seems preferable to having to see how everyone's watching them, and serves to alleviate some of the fear growing in the back of her mind that some of them might have taken more than Intro to Vulcan.

"_Perhaps I can become ill._"

"_That would be deceitful._"

"_Not if I find a walk in freezer somewhere, or head down to the infectious diseases wing of Starfleet Medical._"

"_That would be ill-advised._"

"_Was that supposed to be amusing_?" she asks, blinking up at him.

"_Pardon?_"

"_You said ill- It is of no consequence_," she says quickly, shaking her head. "_Perhaps we can tell the Ambassador and the Captain that we need to think about it and tell them at a later time._"

"_I believe that it is incumbent upon me to inform you that Captain Pike can be quite willful._"

_"As in we have no real choice_?" she asks and has to resist raising her hand to dig her fingers into temples.

"_Not without arousing suspicion_," he says. "_I must point out that avoiding such a weekend will not lead them to change their opinion that we are in a relationship._"

"_I am aware_. _But we could just stop everything and give up,_" she points out.

"_Is that what you wish?_"

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. As much as she wants this to be over, ending all of it doesn't exactly seem like the best choice. "_No. I have my paper and you need those crystals_."

She thinks he hesitates for just a moment, like he does sometimes when he's speaking Standard and is choosing what words to use. "_Then there is one other option._"

"_Shoot._"

"_That phrase does not translate to-"_

"_Spock_."

"_Perhaps he best way to extract ourselves from this situation may be to accomplish our goals as soon as possible. It does not satisfy your desire to avoid complication, nor to reduce the duplicity regarding the nature of our relationship, but it may serve to bring a more rapid end to this arrangement._"

She blinks up at him and it takes her a minute to find her voice.

"_You suggest that we increase our efforts as a means of convincing the Ambassador to distribute the dilithium more quickly_?" she asks, unsure that she heard him right, and even if she did, if he's really suggesting what she thinks he is. _"I thought we just agreed that we wished to avoid complication._"

"_We did._"

"_This does not exactly fall within those parameters._"

"_It would be the most logical solution_."

"_It is a terrible idea._"

"_Would you like to suggest a different one?_"

"_Invent a time machine?_"

"_Perhaps I should have specified that you would need to provide a practical solution._"

She takes a deep breath and makes herself pause long enough to think it through, trying to imagine a weekend with his colleagues, and Pike, and the Ambassador, but her mind is drawing an enormous blank whenever she attempts to conjure up an image of what that might be like.

Instead, she thinks about the weight of his hand on her, like an anchor against the discomfort of being in a crowded room of people who think they're together, like he's steadying her against everything that's been so complicated lately.

"_We can go_," she says with a sigh, when she realizes she can't think of a reason not to go besides her own discomfort. And she got herself – and him – into this mess and she might as well see it through to the end and the sooner that comes, the better.

"_You are certain_?"

_"I am_,_ it is fine_," she says, then can't help but pause, and feeling herself wanting to smile, just a little, because she always forgets the way that 'fine' in Vulcan translates to Standard as 'satisfactory' and 'suitable' and 'acceptable' and 'adequate', along with a host of other words Spock always seems to be using.

"_Very well._"

Everyone's looking at them and she wonders how it must seem, his hand still on her and them speaking quietly in another language, their heads bowed towards each other like they're making a quiet, separate space for themselves in the middle of a loud, crowded room.

"Ok," she says in Standard, nodding up at him, then at Pike. "We'll come, we're looking forward to it," she makes herself say, unsure of where to look since she suddenly realizes how close she is to Spock, and it suddenly seems like his hand has been on her for longer than just a few moments and she wonders if he's going to move it, or when, and it feels hard to focus, like she can't both think about the way he's touching her and the conversation at the same time.

"Wonderful," Pike says.

"Great," Puri grins.

"You will not bring your work," Taele informs them.

"Wow," Gaila breathes and she looks more excited than she did about the chocolate fountain. "This is the best, ever."

"As I said earlier, you are not invited to attend," Taele says quickly, skewering Gaila with a look that suggests just how horrified the Ambassador would be to spend a weekend with someone so blatantly and fragrantly single.

"Oh, no, I don't need to," Gaila says with a wide smile. "But this is just going to be so, so incredible, right Ny?"

"Of course," she says dully, then realizes that if they're going to get the crystals any sooner, she's going to have to start acting the part. Not her first choice, but the only way out of this mess seems to be to see it through to the other side, so she makes herself step closer to Spock, close enough that she can feel the heat of his body wash over her. "So much fun. Can't wait. Really."


	11. Chapter 11

"You excited?" Gaila asks, sitting on her bed and practically bouncing up and down.

"It'll be fine, I guess," Nyota says as she folds her socks. It's what she's been telling herself all morning as she very slowly packs, even though she's not quite ready to even admit to herself that this is really happening. "It's just two nights."

"Two completely awesome nights. And it is going to be so, so much better than 'fine'," Gaila says and this time she does bounce, just a little.

"You could have helped me out, you know. Come up with some reason why I had to stay on campus this weekend."

"Like you don't want to go."

"I don't want to go, exactly. I have many, many other things I'd rather be doing. Practically anything, in fact. It's going to be a huge pain to keep this charade up for days at a time."

"They already think you're in love forever and ever," Gaila grins and Nyota squeezes her eyes shut.

"Do you think they really think that?"

"Well, that you're at least doing it."

"God, Gaila, stop, please. It's not even like that, you know that, and what would be better is if they knew that."

"They don't know that," Gaila says gleefully, clapping her hands together. "They think you and the Commander are knocking shoes."

"Boots."

"But what if you're wearing shoes?" Gaila asks. "Or even sandals? Because then-"

"I just wish that this had all turned out differently," Nyota says as she stuffs her socks into her duffle bag. "I never, ever wanted this many people to know."

"Why?"

"Because it's way, way more dishonest than just having the Ambassador know?"

"But why, why?"

"Because it comes a lot closer to lying?"

"But why, why, why?"

"Because they believe this huge fallacy about us, this entire situation that doesn't even exist?"

"But why, why-"

"You can't just keep adding them, Gaila."

"I'm just trying to figure exactly how deep your denial goes."

"What does that even mean?" Nyota asks as she tries to decide if she wants to bring running shorts.

"Are you worried about them or yourself actually thinking that this is a thing?"

"What? Them, obviously," she says, folding her shorts and grabbing a sports bra out of the drawer. "Of course them. Why?"

"Cause I'm trying to guess if you're going to be packing lingerie or a chastity belt."

"What?"

"Come on," Gaila says with a wide grin.

"Come on what?"

"You two, a weekend with Pike and the entire senior staff…"

"So?"

"At his house out in Mojave…"

"And?"

"Everyone thinks you're dating."

"What's your point?"

"Have you really not figured this out yet?"

"Figured what out, exactly?"

"You haven't realized you're going to be sharing a room with him?"

"We're not-" Nyota starts before Gaila's words can sink in. "Oh."

"Oh yes, Nyota Uhura, oh yes."

"Shit."

"No, not shit, amazingness. Incredibleness. Awesomeness. The best-ness ever, that's ever been."

"I-" Nyota starts, staring down at her duffle bag, at her favorite t-shirt in her hand, the one she always runs in if it's clean, at her socks, so ordinary and unexceptional a moment ago, and then down at the neatly folded underwear sitting next to them. "No."

"Yes."

"No, no, no."

"Yes, yes, yes."

"I – We – This isn't-"

"Breathe," Gaila instructs. "And choose better bras, seriously, Ny, you can't pack those."

"I– "Nyota starts again, and then does breathe, sucks in a deep, long breath and lets it back out again, trying to still the way her stomach is suddenly jumping around, like it's ready to leap right past her heart and up into her throat. She forces herself to calm down, wishes for some of that composure that Spock always seems to have as she tries to sort through – and past – the image of having to share a room with him.

A bed.

"You know what?" Nyota says abruptly, dropping her shirt over her underwear so she doesn't have to look at them and similarly erasing the image of Spock and their sleeping arrangements from her mind. "It'll be fine. We're professionals."

"Fine? No, it'll be salacious and hopefully full of debauchery and -"

"-Gaila, we are Starfleet officers," she says, glaring at her. She grabs her sweatpants out of her drawer, since she's suddenly feeling like the more layers she can possibly sleep in the better. "Aren't there hundreds of stories of being trapped in escape pods, or forced to share a tent, or dozens of other scenarios that people of opposite – or the same I might add – genders get themselves into? Our careers are varied and unpredictable and with so many unexplored planets and unfamiliar customs, platonically sharing a bed is really not a big deal. If that even happens. I have no idea what Pike's place is like."

"I am entirely certain that in each one of those scenarios you just described, it ended with some pretty hot and heavy sex."

"Oh just shut up."

"Mmmm. Escape pod. I have to remember that one."

Nyota's pretty much wishing for an escape pod about ten minutes into the drive.

Spock is completely silent, which for him is saying something. Beyond greeting her so rotely that he may have been reciting from a book of Terran manners, he hasn't even looked at her once. In turn, she's spent the time staring out the window as the city fades behind them and wondering if Spock would kick her out of the car if she suggested turning on music.

"So I got a good start on the draft of my paper," she finally tells the dashboard.

"That is to be expected."

"Yeah, guess so." She crosses her legs one way and then the other, then wishes she had thought to look up how long the drive is, then thinks about asking and then decides not to. "So it's pretty hot in Mojave, right? That'll be a nice treat for you."

"It is hardly comparable to Vulcan's climate."

"Oh." She spends the next ten minutes staring around the inside of the car, trying to identify why Pike thought it was so great and summarily failing. It's nice, for sure, and really clean, but more than anything it's just strange to be in a car again after so many years of either walking around San Francisco or taking public transit. And then, without any actual permission from her brain, curiosity wells up in her and before she can stop herself, she blurts out, "Why do you have a car?"

"So that I can leave the city when I wish."

"Right. That makes sense."

She lets out a slow breath and goes back to staring out the window, wondering if the entire weekend is going to be like this.

It'll be fine, she tells herself for the millionth time, and then of course her brain chooses right then to remember the brush of his lips over hers and she buries her face in her palm.

"Are you well?" he asks, breaking the heavy silence that has fallen between them.

"Fine, thanks."

He glances over at her, then, and she forces herself to drop her hand to her lap, smoothing her hands across the soft fabric of her shorts, brushing out imaginary wrinkles.

She wishes, not for the first time, that the Ambassador hadn't been quite so vehement about them not bringing work, since each time she sits down to write more of her draft, summer seems to tick by quicker and the beginning of the semester has started looming over her, reminding her that she needs to get everything finished before classes start.

Just that thought makes her want to get some reading done, makes her wish she had never agreed to this, makes her want to point out that this weekend isn't exactly fair to her side of the deal, not if she's stuck for so many days without access to her padds and a fake boyfriend who seems set on ignoring her.

His reaction seems incongruous, dissonant with how he was the last time she saw him, that little inkling of support from him being the one thing that got her to agree to this. And now he's silent, stonily so, and after one more glance at his stern profile, she just folds her arms over her stomach and resumes her study of the hills she can see through the window.

"I didn't have to come," she finally says when she decides that he's probably not going to speak until they get back on Sunday, the way things are going. "If you didn't want me to."

He just glances at her again without bothering to actually move his head to do so.

"I have no objection to your presence," he says into the silence that follows her statement.

"Sure."

Something in the way he sits changes without any discernable movement on his part, but she still gets the impression he just heaved a sigh.

"Your response indicates that you are not convinced by what I said."

"Really."

"Yes."

"No, I-" she starts, then presses her lips together. She wonders just how crazy it would make Spock if she slipped her sandals off and propped her feet up on it like she wants to, but as he didn't exactly deny that he doesn't want her there, it's probably best not to push him. "Never mind."

"Why do you say that so often?"

"What?" she asks, finally tearing her eyes from her perusal of the dashboard to look over at him. "Say what?"

"'Never mind'. You repeat that phrase or instruct me not to worry about something – which I will point out I am not predisposed to doing in the first place – or simply fail to explain yourself."

"I don't do that," she says, crossing her arms and turning back to study the hills racing past them.

"You do."

"I don't."

"I have a perfect memory."

"Good for you." She hugs her arms tighter around herself and leans her head against the window before letting her eyes drift shut for a moment. "Sorry," she mutters without opening them.

"Explain."

She digs her thumb and forefinger into her eyes, squeezing them shut before letting her hand drop back to her lap.

"You're pointing out that I brush you off and I don't mean to. So I'm sorry."

"I see."

She glances over at him but he's not looking at her, just staring ahead of them at the road, and she drops her gaze back to her lap, scraping at the nail polish on her thumbnail and frowning when it begins to chip.

"Do you know if Pike has Net access from his house?" she asks without bothering to look up at him.

"No."

"No you don't know or no he doesn't have it?"

"I answered your question."

"Right," she says, then presses her palms to the tops of her thighs, her fingers splayed out and tense. "Are you going to be like this all weekend?"

"Pardon?"

"I get that you want this to be over too but you being like this isn't going to help," she says to her hands. "And you were the one who wanted to go to this thing."

"I did not say that."

"You did, you said that we should increase our efforts, or redouble them, or whatever and now you're just-" She lets out a harsh breath and gestures towards him in explanation before dropping her hand back to her lap.

He cuts his eyes at her and then away again

"I am just?" he finally asks.

She rests her elbow on the armrest set into the door and leans her forehead into her fingers, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.

"Why were you so gung-ho about this if you didn't want me to actually come?"

"I do not know what 'gung-ho' means."

"Eager. Enthusiastic."

"Neither of those words aptly describe a Vulcan."

"You're half Vulcan."

"Your powers of observation are, as ever, exemplary."

"Don't be a-" she starts, then bites off the words before something she is going to regret comes out of her mouth, something that she can't say to a commanding officer, someone she might serve under someday, the man who's her research advisor and who was her professor, no matter that she's stuck in a car with him and about to spend an entire weekend in his company. With his boss. And colleagues. Who think they're dating. And probably sleeping together. And therefore they're going to be given one room. With just one bed. And he is being a complete-

"Why did you agree to attend if you did not wish to?" he asks and she realizes she's been squeezing her eyes shut so hard that it's making her face hurt.

"It wasn't exactly my first choice of how to spend a weekend."

He's quiet for a long moment and his expression is completely, perfectly blank until a muscle in his jaw twitches. "I believe I understand your reticence."

"Do you."

"I said as much."

"Great. Exemplary powers of self reflection, then." That muscle jumps in his jaw again and she tells herself to look away from him, to not stare over at his profile but there's something too carefully blank about his expression, the way he's focused on the road too controlled and careful. "Sorry," she says again, staring at a car that is passing them – and of course it is, because Spock seems genetically predetermined to go the speed limit. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"It is of no consequence."

"Still." The other car has faded into the distance ahead of them, curved out of sight around a corner and left them alone on the road again before her mind retraces his comment, and this time catches on it, sticks there as she ruminates on what he said. "What did you mean that you understand my reticence?"

"You appeared to grasp my intention."

"Spock."

"Yes?"

"You didn't answer." She gets a raised eyebrow in return, but he doesn't even bother to look at her, just keeps his focus on the highway in front of them. "Fine," she says when he stays silent. "Forget I asked."

"I am unable to-"

"Yeah, got it, perfect memory, etcetera."

Another car has edged up behind them, passed them, and then sped out of sight by the time he speaks again.

"I meant that you sufficiently conveyed the way in which you did not wish so many individuals to know of our ostensible relationship," he says, his hands gripping and then easing on the wheel. "I perhaps did not sufficiently parse your intention in communicating such when we discussed attending the gathering this weekend, but the intervening time has allowed for sufficient reflection, which has made your concern abundantly clear."

"Good," she says and watches his hands tighten again.

"Indeed."

She crosses her arms again, staring out at the guardrail on the edge of the road, old and antiquated and half rusted.

"It just doesn't feel right," she says to the window.

"Of course."

"First thing we've ever agreed on."

"That is not-"

"-Accurate?" she guesses and watches the corner of his mouth tighten before his face is smooth and blank again. "God, what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Seriously."

"As I said-"

"Why are you being like this?"

"I am not-" he starts, then cuts himself off which is so out of character, so strange, so discordant from that she finds herself shifting in her seat to study him.

"Why are you so upset?"

"It would be illogical to be upset."

"Ok. You are, though."

"I am quite in control of my emotions," he answers and when she looks, she swears she sees the odometer edge up, just slightly.

"Sure," she mutters. "Of course you are."

She wouldn't have agreed to this whole thing if she had thought he would be so infuriatingly, maddeningly silent, so acerbic that if feels like they're back in the first few days of doing this with each other, when they could barely trade more than a handful of sentences without snapping at each other.

At least they had work then, she thinks, wishing for her school bag and padds of research, all tucked neatly under her desk, waiting for her return. That had been the one thing that had always seemed easy between them – easier, at least, that sitting in a tense and edgy silence in his car, about to spend an entire weekend pretending that they like each other. And now without either of their projects to distract them, convincing anyone that they can actually stand the other's company seems to be a monumental undertaking.

"Can you just tell me?" she finds she's asked, without having given herself actual permission to do so.

"Tell you what?"

"Why you're-" She gestures to him again, like that will possibly provide enough explanation. "Like this."

She feels the car very rapidly decelerate and before she can quite register what's happened, he's very suddenly pulled over to the side of the highway. Without the car moving, without the flat fields rushing past them on one side and the hills and mountains rolling by them on the other, the silence that descends upon the car is oppressive, stifling, in a way that's even worse than before.

She's not surprised when he gets out and it takes her a moment to do the same, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening her door so that the heat of the day suddenly washes over her.

The sun beats down on her, hot and fierce and it takes her a moment to blink against the brightness. It's windy, windier than she thought it would be and she has to grab at her hair to keep it from getting in her mouth and eyes, twisting it around her hand as she squints over at him, trying to find an answer in the way he's standing so incredibly stiff and straight, staring out at a distant mountain.

A car races past them, and then another, and it's too hot and grit is blowing at them every time the wind blows and he's just standing there silently, unmoving, and she has really, really had enough.

"Look, I-"

"I did not intend-"

They both pause and she watches a muscle in his cheek jump.

"As I said," he finally continues, "I understand your reserve in moving forward with this arrangement."

"Then why are you even willing to go along with it?"

"Why are you?"

"You're the one with the morals and the unwillingness to lie and the-" she says, then cuts herself off as his eyes narrow and his mouth moves like he's about to speak, though he doesn't. "You shouldn't want to do this," she says, slowly. "I don't understand."

"You do not wish so many people to know about us."

"Yes," she says, drawing the word out while she studies him, like somehow by staring at him she can figure him out.

"That is clear enough."

"Does the dishonesty not bother you?" she asks.

"I have not lied," he says stiffly.

"What about what all your coworkers think, and Pike?"

"They have long made assumptions about my life, the latter even more so. I am quite accustomed to inferences regarding my behavior being spread amongst my peer group."

"Then if you're so used to it, why are you so upset?"

"I am not-"

"Oh, stop it, you totally are, and it bothers you even though it happens all the time," she says, answering her own question. "But that's not all of it."

"You do not know that."

"Try me."

"I do not know what that means."

"That you might be surprised," she explains, "Or that your own assumption was not correct."

He doesn't say anything in return, just looks at her stonily and she stares right back at him, the way the harsh sunlight is falling across his face and shadowing his eyes, highlighting hints of brown in his hair she doesn't think she's ever noticed before. He's so tall and austere, dressed all in black and in a thick sweater despite the heat around them, so that he seems to stick out from the browns of the hills, the greens of the fields stretching out around them. Of course, he sticks out most places, even in a Vulcan restaurant, so seeing him stand out like a sore thumb on the side of the highway shouldn't really be that surprising.

And she must be getting better at parsing what he means, must have just spent so much time with him watching him retreat into silence, watching him try to avoid drawing attention to himself, that what he does say and what he doesn't, what skirts beneath his words suddenly becomes completely and utterly clear to her.

"It's not you," she says quickly. "This isn't about you. I'm not reticent about doing this with you, it's about doing it in general."

"I see."

She finds herself suddenly a step closer to him.

"I'm serious."

"Noted."

"I am."

"You have said as much."

"It's not you. It could be anyone and I'd be hesitant about how many people know," she repeats and she realizes her hair is fluttering around her face again since she's dropped her hand from it to hold out to him. She abruptly withdraws it, smooths her palms down the front of her shirt before tucking her hair behind her ears.

"You sufficiently conveyed that sentiment."

"Look," she says, tugging at her shirt again. "You're…"

"I am?" he prompts when she doesn't finish her sentence.

"You're not that bad to be doing this with," she sighs, crossing her arms and digging her toe into the gravel on the side of the road that she's standing it. It's dusty and gritty and she wishes that she weren't wearing sandals because now it's getting on her foot, but it's so hot out that she can't even begin to imagine being dressed in the type of layers that Spock is, his boots black and pristine. "You're all… respectful and polite, and other Vulcan things like that."

"Things?" he repeats and she winces, because she's a linguist and can probably express herself better than that, with her former professor standing there in front of her. Her former professor who she's now standing on the side of the highway with, about to drive to spend a weekend as his fake girlfriend. Sharing a bed.

"Things," she repeats and tightens her arms across her torso.

"You have spent a considerable amount of time informing me that I am rude and discourteous."

"Well you were," she points out. "But you could be worse, I could be doing this with someone like -" She stops herself from naming McKenna, somehow unable to bring up him, specifically, as an example of someone who it would be even more terrible to do this with. "Olson."

"Chief Engineer Olson?"

"Do you know another?"

"There is an ensign assigned to the-"

"Of course you do," she says, raising her hand and rubbing at her forehead. "Can you just listen to my point without correcting me every thirty seconds?"

"I do not-"

"If you mention the precise interval of time between instances where you correct me I'm going to scream."

"Truly?"

"Want to find out?"

He pauses and when she drops her hand to look at him, he's just watching her.

"I do not believe I do," he finally answers. "And I understand what you were attempting to convey."

"Good. Great. Wonderful."

He's quiet again, which is fine since she doesn't really know what to say, either, and settles for dragging her foot through the gravel once more.

"Would you like to keep going?" he asks after a long moment, nodding at the road in front of them.

"Do you?"

"I will leave the choice up to you."

She closes her eyes against the glare of the sun and lets out a long breath. "We have to try to be nicer to each other."

"I understand."

"You have to act like you like me."

"You must do so as well."

"We have to be in this together, Spock," she says. "On each other's side."

"That is your responsibility as much as it is mine."

"And you can't do that thing you do where you just stop talking." He doesn't answer and she reaches out and pokes his shoulder with one finger. It's somehow firmer than she thought it would be, less bony, like some part of her brain was so sure that the fact he is so slender means he can't also have that wiry strength she can feel through that one touch.

"Why did you-" he's asking, looking down at where she just poked him.

"That. That is the thing that you can't do."

"Why?"

"Because," she says. "You have to be… accessible. Approachable. You can't just retreat whenever you don't want to talk about something, like in the car just now. You have to tell me about it so that we can deal with it."

"Why?"

"Because," she repeats.

"That is not an answer."

"It's not fair," she says, trying to keep her jaw from clenching like it wants to. "It's not supportive, either, and it makes me feel like you don't even care about helping me through all of this, like it's all up to me to take care of, that it's ok for you to be completely silent because I'll come along and fix everything."

His brows draw together and he studies her in that way of his that is starting to border on really, really annoying, if she wasn't sure that he was actually thinking about what she had said, turning it over in that giant brain of his in a way that means he's listening, means he's at least considering what she has to say.

"I did not intend as much."

"Fine."

"I did not," he says again, softer. "I apologize."

She hugs herself a little tighter, presses her lips together and finally nods. "Ok. Uh, thanks."

"You are aware the Vulcans are touch-telepaths," he says after a moment and she looks up at him, blinking against the sunlight.

"Of course I am."

"We do not use language in the way that your culture does."

"Because you have bonds with your family?" she asks, trying to remember what she's learned of his society.

"Exactly." His head tips, slightly, in that way he has when he's searching for the best way to say something. "Expressing sentiments verbally remains unfamiliar to me, despite the fact that I have served among other species and lived on Earth for as long as I have."

"You're friends with Doctor Puri," she points out.

"Who is exceedingly patient."

That makes her sigh out a breath through her nose, something that very nearly borders on a laugh. "Well, you can ask my roommate, Kirk, my siblings, my parents, and a host of others in my life about my resounding lack thereof."

"I believe I have witnessed it first hand," he says.

"You sure know what to say to a girl."

"I have also observed that your species struggles with such, in comparison with others."

"Gee, thanks for that, really."

He once again sighs without actually appearing to let out any breath. "Rather, I aimed to convey that it is not an issue that you alone have, and furthermore that you are not so ineffectual in such regards as others of your kind."

"Was that a compliment?"

"A statement of fact."

She presses her lips together and cuts her eyes to the side, staring off towards the hazy hills in the distance before ducking her head.

"I'll keep practicing," she says to her crossed arms before looking up at him again.

"Self improvement is logical."

"Precisely," she says, stealing his own word. "So stop clamming up."

"Clamming-"

"Being overly quiet," she corrects. "Like the shellfish."

"The Mercenaria mercenaria?"

"Maybe?"

"That is a curious turn of phrase."

"And yet so suitable for certain half-Vulcans I know," she says. "And, look, I know I'm not your favorite person in the world and that spending time with me is probably barely tolerable and hardly logical, but we're in this with each other, right? If we're going to do this, we're going to do it together?"

At that, he finally nods, a short, abrupt gesture.

"Indeed."

"Then let's go and do this thing, get it done with," she suggests.

When he's pulled back on to the highway again, she starts picking at her nails again, casting about for what to say to fill the quiet between them, when to her surprise he speaks.

"I do not dislike you."

When she turns from staring out the window to look at him, amazed at what he just said, he's watching her, his gaze flicking back and forth between her and the road.

"Well good, I don't not like you either," she tells him, which is true. Mostly. "Maybe someday we'll even work up from not not enjoying each other's company to finding it merely acceptable."

"Adequate?" he asks.

"Satisfactory," she answers. "A very passable experience."

"I anticipate the day with great excitement," he says so dryly that she finds it nearly draws a smile out of her.

"Well, good." They lapse back into silence, one which is much more comfortable this time. And it's only the way he's not half strangling the wheel and the fact that he doesn't look perturbed when slips her sandals off and folds her legs under herself that drives her to ask, "Mind if I turn on the radio?"

"If you would like."

When she flips it on, it's set to a classical music station and after scanning through the rest of the stations, she returns to that one.

"Is this what you normally listen to?"

"Yes. Is it acceptable?"

"I actually used to play this piece on the piano."

"Humans occasionally forgo answering a question and instead offer a statement of fact."

She leans her head against the window and turns to look at him, waiting long enough that he finally glances at her before she responds.

"Sometimes half-humans, half-Vulcans point out idiosyncrasies in a way that's kind of annoying."

He raises an eyebrow at her and she raises one right back until she thinks his lips maybe quirk, just slightly.

"Is that so."

"Yep."

"I apologize."

"Oh, it's fine, I'm getting rather used to it," she sighs. "And yes, this radio station is completely acceptable. I didn't know you like Terran music. It's such a different tradition from Vulcan."

"It is, but that does not render it unenjoyable." She's so busy trying to figure out if she's ever heard him respond to anything as more than satisfactory, and whether or not unenjoyable means he's falling over himself he loves it so much that she nearly misses his next words. "I too learned to play this on the piano."

"Really? They have pianos on Vulcan?"

He frowns minutely. "It does not logically follow that simply because I play piano, I did so in my childhood."

"Oh." She stares blankly out the windshield for a minute. "It must be kind of frustrating to always be sussing out the assumptions humans make in the course of a conversation."

"Yes," he says so blandly that she smiles. "I learned to play the piano while at the Academy."

"I can't imagine you as a cadet," she admits, glancing over him. He always seems so adult and put together and capable and proficient at just about everything except maybe – definitely – interpersonal skills, that the idea of him going through any type of training instead of leading it just doesn't fit. "And I didn't know the Academy offered piano lessons." He gives her a quick glance and she grimaces, trying to figure out what she said. "Ok, ok, you were obviously a cadet. And… you didn't necessarily take lessons, or you didn't necessarily take them at the Academy? Or even if the Academy offers them, that's not where you learned?"

"Excellent."

"Thank you."

"Your correction that I did not take lessons is accurate. There is a piano in T'Elah Hall."

"And you taught yourself this?" she asks, gesturing to the radio. "This took me almost three months to learn, and a month after that to play it this fast."

"Piano is substantially easier to master than the ka'athyra."

"You play? I've always wanted to learn how."

"I do."

He glances at yet another car that's passing them and she finds herself wanting to grin, just a little.

"Is not following the speed limit illogical?"

"Yes."

"Vulcan travel must be so safe and orderly."

"It is."

"So you've probably never gotten a speeding ticket, like ever?"

"The Academy offers ka'athrya lessons if you are truly interested in taking up the instrument."

"First of all, you didn't answer my question."

"Second?" he prompts when she doesn't continue, just finds herself staring at him and trying to discern if he really, actually ever would have gotten a ticket and wondering, just maybe, just possibly, if a half-Vulcan who decided on Starfleet as a way to get off his home planet might not have a bit of a rebellious streak in him, somewhere down deep.

"What?" she asks. "Oh, secondly, I know about the lessons, I just don't have time."

"That is unfortunate."

"What's unfortunate is that you totally got a speeding ticket and that I'm going to spend all weekend prying the story out of Puri. Unfortunate for you, I mean, not for him and me. We'll have plenty of fun. Is that the most devious thing you've ever done?"

"Why do you not have time?"

"Why do you not want to admit that you totally got pulled over?"

"You are making a gross assumption."

"I don't think so," she says, finding that she's grinning at him before she's realizes that she's even started to do so. "I don't think I am at all. And I'm a cadet, I don't have a chance to do fun things like music lessons, not with school. That's an assumption you can probably very logically make yourself, you know."

"The lessons are in place for students who wish to enrich themselves beyond their coursework while at the Academy."

"Yeah, well," she says, turning away from him and looking out at the hills again.

"I do know what that means."

"What what means?"

"'Yeah, well,'" he repeats and it sounds so odd to hear the phrase in his perfect elocution and articulation that she finds herself wanting to smile again.

"I don't have time, that's what I meant. Which I've told you three times now."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not? You were a cadet, you know what it's like."

"It still stands that the Music Department offers lessons to cadets who-"

"-Wish to enrich themselves, I got it the first time you said it."

"You do not, in that case."

"I do not what?"

"Wish to be enriched."

"Oh. No. Yes. I'm busy," she tells him.

"You are not always particularly comprehensible."

"Say's the guy who said 'you do not' as if that's a sufficient response."

"It was."

"Sure, ok." She goes back to picking at her nail polish before raising one shoulder towards her ear. "I just care about my grades more than about doing fun stuff like that. And I can't really do both."

"Many humans often express that it is other such activities that provide a sufficient balance to their academics and makes their years at the Academy more enjoyable."

"Well, good for them," she says, worrying at her thumbnail. "They must all be smarter than me, or better at getting their work done faster in order to have more time."

"You take an above average number of courses every semester."

"What'd you do, look up my transcript along with my official record?"

"Yes."

"Come on, Spock, I'm going to make you share your own if you keep creeping around like that."

"I am amenable to such."

She huffs out an unhappy laugh and goes back to staring out the window. "Well, thanks, but I don't exactly need to see how you probably got perfect marks while doing twelve internships and participating in every single club, while also learning to play the piano."

"I will not send it to you, in that case."

"You're not going to tell me that I just exaggerated?"

"I am not."

"Well glad one of us had fun as a cadet," she mutters, dropping her head into her hand, "Even if it's the one undisposed to such."

"It is logical to cultivate a well rounded resume."

"Sure. It must be if you and Puri and Hill and probably the rest of your buddies – not that you'll admit you have so many friends, of course – are the next big things to hit Starfleet."

"I believe your class contains a higher than average proportion of students who are expected to make great strides upon graduation."

"Well, good for them," she says to a car coming the opposite direction.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his head tilt, just slightly. "You are included in that statement."

"Not without my one dimensional, completely boring resume, apparently," she mutters, going back to picking at her nails.

"You do not believe me?"

She lets out a long breath and stares at the road in front of them. "Oh, I believe that I probably need to do something other than coursework, but…"

"Yes?" he asks when she doesn't continue.

"I hear it from my roommate all the time," is her only answer. "I'm have my course work, my grades, that's what I do best, so I don't think that even trying anything else would be worth it."

"Why?"

"Because."

"I do not understand why you continue to provide that word as an answer, when it is anything but such."

"Classes are just what I'm good at, Spock, don't worry about it, ok?"

He's quiet for a minute and she hopes he's dropped it, but of course he hasn't, of course he just brings it right up again because he is annoying and infuriating and she really has to take back what she said about not disliking if he's going to be like this.

"You do not wish to undertake a new experience because you fear that you will be less than proficient at it?"

"No."

"Are you being honest?"

"Yes," she says, then catches the way he's looking at her, his eyes darting over to her in between carefully watching the road. "No."

"As I said, it is logical to cultivate a well rounded-"

"-I heard you-"

"-Resume as a way of demonstrating your ability to adapt and grow as a future officer."

"Great. I'll get right on that, then. Pull over, let's find a new internship for me right now."

"If you are interested and are not simply exercising your habit of sarcasm – which is not only illogical but also detrimental to a conversation - I spoke with Commander Ho."

"Good for you. I spoke to her, too, and she wanted to hear all the gossip about the two of us. Probably not the part where we want to strangle each other in the car, but the rest that's all roses and long walks along the beach."

"I do not wish to enact violence upon your person."

"Thanks."

"Nor are flowers logical."

"Of course not."

"And is there a purpose to walking on a beach?"

"Oceanographic survey."

"Truly?"

"No." She cuts her eyes over at him and frowns. "Don't sigh at me."

"I am not disposed to such emotional actions as-"

"Got it," she says, then actually does sigh, blowing out a long breath towards the window. "Sorry. I'm sure that was actually an honest question." He doesn't answer and she looks back over at him. "It's a very stereotypical romantic date. And there is no purpose, just walking. And talking, I guess, or not. Lots of hand holding, too. I'm sure it's lovely."

"You have never experienced such an event?"

"What did Ho have to say?"

She gets a glance from him out of the corner of his eye before he finally tells her. "She suggested that you apply for an internship with the acoustical engineering department. I had also thought to recommend you to Professor Drayton, who will be teaching Advanced Morphology this fall."

"What?" she asks, jerking her head away from where she was staring out the window again to look at him. "Really?"

"As I just said-"

"No, I heard you, I heard you. And wait, you won't be teaching it?"

"It is likely that I will not continue to teach in the department as my other duties to the Academy as well as the Enterprise will dominate most of my time."

"Oh." The thought of the Xenolinguistics department with him seems pretty… strange. Disquieting. Maybe even disappointing. He might not be the world's best fake boyfriend, but he had been a fantastic professor and the building would seem so empty without his quiet presence in his office. "Thank you for thinking of me."

"I can inform her that you do not have sufficient time."

"No," she says sharply. "Don't do that."

"If you are not certain that you-"

"You aren't being serious," she says slowly, squinting at him. "Or you wouldn't have brought that up in the first place."

"You intimated that-"

"Oh my God, you're teasing me.

"I am doing no such thing."

"Stop. Stop it."

"As I am not-"

"The fact that Vulcans don't lie is complete bull, Spock."

"Bull?"

"Bullshit. Crap. Wait, I mean-" She presses her hand to her mouth. "I didn't mean to swear in front of you. Sorry. Don't repeat that," she says, her words tumbling over herself with excitement at the idea of either internship. "I want to do them, which ever, if you think I'd be accepted. Those are… I'd be good at those."

"The likelihood is that you would be in a position to choose between them. And no thanks is necessary. It is logical to recommend qualified cadets to positions which would advance their careers."

"Still." She fiddles with the hem of her shorts for a long moment, running the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. "That was… That was nice of you to think of me, especially for something in my field like that."

"As I said, it was logical."

"But I'm still trying to thank you."

"It was-"

"Just say 'you're welcome'."

"No."

"Fine, say 'you are welcome'."

"I will do no such thing."

She presses her face into her palm and wants to scream and to sigh and to call Gaila so that she can have someone to commiserate with. The idea that they have to stop having conversations like these, tripping over each other and unable to agree on anything as soon as they get to Pike's seems ludicrous, completely crazy that they could ever smoothly interact. But she doesn't have Gaila there to complain to, she has Spock and she's going to be sharing a bed with the man.

"Are you laughing?" he asks and she nods, pinching at the bridge of her nose and trying to make herself stop. "Explain."

"I'm not laughing at you," she says quickly, dropping her hand. "I'm really not."

"I do not understand."

"It's just-" she says, waving back and forth between them. "We fight half of the way to Pike's, then can still barely talk-"

"-It was not precisely halfway and further more I would not classify that as-"

"-Who the hell is going to believe us for three days?" she asks, rather unable to stop smiling at how completely insane this whole thing is. "We're going to need to take lessons from Puri and Stoyer. Talk about a resume builder, maybe we can put it under professional skills – developed the ability to persuade colleagues of a fraudulent relationship."

"That was not an expertise I had considered you cultivating when I suggested you undertake pursuits other than your coursework."

"Yeah, but how good would it be - we could form a study group, you and me, watch romantic comedies, make lists of ways couples interact."

"Perhaps undertake empirical research?" he asks in that dry tone of his and she can't help the huff of laughter that escapes her again. "It may very well be useful."

"Interviews or would you want to do something more concrete?"

"I would prefer quantitative methods."

"Of course you would. Oh my God, I bet you've never done qualitative research in your life, have you?"

"Indeed I have not."

"Well, just for you, we could run a regression analysis."

"Attempt to reject a null hypothesis?"

"This could be our newest paper," she says, shaking her head slowly and smiling. "How to date for two people who never, ever do."

"You do not?" he asks.

"I don't what? Date?" she asks. "No, not really. I mean, obviously, right?"

He doesn't speak again and she's quickly lost in the thought of the weekend that they're driving towards, of being with him for so long with so many people around. People who think they're together and will expect them to act like that, and her brain catches on and sticks on the thought of actually touching him. On purpose. In front of others. Being demonstrative with him in a way that she hasn't been with a man in what is turning out to be longer than she can actually remember. And not just men she meets the few times she goes out dancing with Gaila, or the one off dates that have been peppered across her two years at the Academy, but acting like she has a boyfriend who she wants to touch out of affection.

It's foreign in a way that's depressing, like a long unused skill that has grown so rusty that she doesn't even know where to begin.

She so busy worrying at her lip and trying to imagine what it will even be like, to be so expressive and unreserved with him, that she hardly noticed he's taken an exit from the highway until they're already on a smaller road.

It makes her stomach clench and when she looks over at him, his hands have tightened on the wheel again, in that way he was doing when they first got into the car.

And if she's sitting there, pressing her fingers into her stomach through her shirt, rubbing at the knot of nausea that's forming, she can only imagine how he is, what's simmering under that suddenly too calm expression of his.

"Spock?" she asks a tree outside of the window they're driving by, slower than they were on the highway.

"Yes?"

"When I said it wasn't about you, doing all of this with you, I mean, I was serious," she tells a bush. "I think if you had a good handle on just how many women at Starfleet would rather trade places with me right now, you would have a truckload of dilithium crystals and be halfway to Delta Maenali IV by now. I just don't want you to think that I have an issue with you, beyond this mess we've gotten ourselves into."

"I believe you have yet to ascertain precisely how little dilithium is needed to power a ship, and furthermore, we will not be doing space trials near Delta Maenali IV. Neptune is far enough."

"You're correcting me again. And still." She studies the way the road is hurrying past underneath them, a blurry, gray track that's sweeping by all too quickly. "I don't know why you can't see that."

"You are single."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You also possess estimable qualities that individuals interested in a romantic relationship with you would find appealing."

"Yeah, but as we established I have limited patience, can have quite a temper, am apparently a poor communicator, and all I ever do is my homework which makes me a pretty boring person," she says lightly. "Plus, not many men want to share me with the library. That building and I are in a serious, committed relationship."

"That is an expression of sexuality I have yet to encounter in humans."

"I was joking. Obviously. Being facetious."

"I was born in 2230."

"What?" she asks, blinking at him, and trying to figure out how old that makes him. Not that much older than herself, really, which is strange to think about, that they're closer in age than she might have guessed if she had ever thought to wonder about it.

"I mean to say that yesterday was not the day of my birth," he says and despite herself, despite the achingly long car ride, and the fact that she's about to sleep in a bed next to him, and spend days pretending that she's probably falling in love with him, that she genuinely likes him, she bursts out laughing again, louder this time, the swelling anxiety in her stomach and chest briefly pushed back, just for a moment.

"Vulcans don't joke," she says through the hand she's clapped over her mouth, though despite it, she's still quite unable to staunch her smile.

"I was simply stating a fact."

"Of course you were," she says and she's still grinning, up until Spock pulls onto an even smaller road, one that curves up into the hills. "Is this it?"

"Nearly."

"Really?"

"Is that not apparent?"

"As if I wasn't nervous enough," she mutters, wiping her palms on her shorts.

"You are nervous?" he asks, curiosity coloring his tone. "Explain."

"Well, it's…" she waves at him, then at her, then at the road in front of them, which just earns her a stern glance.

"You have never failed to be successful in negotiating a social situation, as far as I can determine."

She swallows as he turns off the road and onto a long driveway.

"That doesn't mean it's always easy."

"I see."

"Are you nervous?" she finally asks, even though she quite clearly knows the answer to that.

"No," he says but she doesn't think he's quite driving the speed limit and there's something about his expression and the way he holds himself that's too tense.

"Are you sure?" she asks as he carefully rounds two curves, then pulls up in front of a huge, sprawling house, set into the hills around it and with a handful of other cars parked out front.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"It is immaterial to worry about such things, as we have arrived."

She looks at him for a long moment, then at the house, then back at him. She thinks she sees the door open, sees someone - probably Puri - waving at them and takes a deep breath. He isn't exactly reaching for his door handle, either, and has only gotten as far as unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Are we going to be really, really convincing?" she asks him since she's pretty sure one of the cars has diplomatic tags on it, meaning the Ambassador is very likely there already.

"I suppose."

"You ready?"

"We do not have a choice."

"I'm not ready either," she assures him, making herself unbuckle her own seatbelt and reach down to slip her sandals back on. "We're going to be nice to each other?"

"Indeed."

"And-" The words catches in her throat and she wishes she had brought some water, maybe, or something else to drink because her mouth feels a little dry. "Affectionate?"

"That is likely part of the parameters needed in order to successfully carry out this plan."

"Parameters," she mutters. "Is that Vulcan enthusiasm, Spock? Like a well written lab protocol?"

"As I said before, Vulcans are hardly enthusiastic."

"Good thing you're half human, then," she tells him, reaching to open her door and stepping out into the sun, returning Puri's wave with one of her own, and as wide a smile as she can muster.

"Is it?" he asks and she glances back at him over the roof of the car, taking a deep breath and letting it out again.

"It is. Definitely," she says firmly, then nods up at the house. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

* * *

><p><em>127/14: And speaking of getting things over with, a quick note to say that I have the next chapters of 'For the Rest of Us' nearly ready and then I have finals to slog through. Not to leave you on the cusp of Spock and Nyota's big weekend, but that is exactly what I'm going to do until my papers are done and turned in. Here's hoping I have the type of willpower and focus these two dorks always seem to have when it comes to their work (and each other)!_


	12. Chapter 12

"How is your room?" Taele asks and it's so sudden that the glass Nyota is holding slips and hits the counter with a thump. It doesn't break, thankfully, but water slops out of it, wetting her hand.

"It's fine," she answers, reaching for one of the towels hanging from a cupboard knob by the stove. It's actually a lot nicer than fine, but she refuses to give it full credit because it's lacking the couch that she was half hoping might possibly just be there.

Instead, there's just a bed. A big bed, granted, but just a bed, and a bathroom and closet and bureau and two nightstands and a window with a gorgeous view of the desert, and, when she had left to come downstairs, a half-Vulcan who she had been doing a pretty good job of not making eye contact with.

"What will you do now?" Taele asks.

"Oh, uh," Nyota says, even though for someone with as many languages as she knows, she could have done much, much better with a response. But Spock had promised he would help her out with this type of stuff and instead, he's still upstairs and if he's up there talking to Puri, who has the room next to them, instead of down there with her, she is going to have a legitimate problem with her fake boyfriend.

"You should spend time with the Commander," Taele informs her.

"Yeah, he's-" Nyota says, waving off towards the stairs. "Uh he's-" she starts again, then lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding when he finally, finally starts walking down those stairs. She tries very hard not to glare at him and is pretty sure she more or less succeeds.

Do something, she tells herself, or maybe she's trying to telepathically prod him into some type of action and wouldn't that be nice, that bond that Vulcan couples have so that she could harass him in the privacy of their minds for abandoning her within five minutes of arriving at Pike's.

"We're going to…" she says and hopes that the hand she puts on his back looks more casual than if feels, since she thinks that maybe her elbow is sticking out strangely and how long, exactly, is she going to leave her hand there? Is there a certain amount of time that would be best? Should she have gone for more of a pat than a lingering touch? Now that it's there, is it weird to pull it away so soon?

Every possible pursuit for the day that her brain is able to supply hinges around working on her paper or their Romulan project or having a cup of tea, since those seem to be the activities she and Spock are capable of carrying out with minimal difficulty, and are tried and true and practiced well enough that they don't feel weird or unnatural, not like her hand on his back does.

But they didn't bring work and brewing tea will only forestall the fact that she has no idea what they're supposed to be doing this entire weekend, and that she's not exactly a person who takes vacations, let alone vacations at her fake boyfriend's boss' house with telepathic Ambassadors who control substantive dilithium crystal supplies.

"Perhaps we might go for a walk," Spock finally suggests and she agrees so quickly that she nearly forgets to take her hand off of him.

It might not be as hot as Vulcan outside, but the sun and heat is a welcome change from the damp fog of San Francisco, and what's better is that the Ambassador doesn't follow them, just watches them head down a path leading away from the house.

When Pike's house is out of sight, she lets out a breath and stares out over the desert.

"We're going to have to find things to do with everyone back there."

"I am aware."

"As in be sociable and spend time with all of them."

"Naturally."

She glances behind them, even though she can't see the house.

"Want to go on a really, really long walk first?"

"I am amenable to that course of action," he says and she thinks that's progress at least, something they can agree on, even if it means avoiding everyone else and therefore being alone together.

…

Pike's kitchen is huge. Like really, really huge and Nyota hasn't been in anyone's kitchen in a while, not since the last time she went home to see her parents. The wide island counter and enormous stove and two ovens makes the kitchen in the house she grew up in seem small and cramped, no matter that her parents fed three children and whatever cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents were at the house out of it.

Still, her parents had never had to deal with this number of different species eating in one place, so maybe the size of Pike's kitchen is a good thing.

"Here," she says, grabbing for a plate of salad in one hand and tossing a washcloth over where the Ambassador is enthusiastically splattering the counter with bits of lamb.

"What is the purpose of that?" Taele asks, regarding the cloth with abject suspicion.

"It's just a little-" she starts, then has to bite back calling it gross, or stomach-churning, or kind of obnoxious. "Slightly worrisome, as our digestive tracks can't contend with raw meat."

"An unfortunate circumstance."

"It's all relative," Nyota says and swallows, looking away from the Ambassador's plate, thinking that maybe trying to have lunch at the same time as Taele might have been a mistake, not that she and Spock exactly had a choice, what with the way they were veritably being followed around the house even since returning from their walk.

"Yum," Puri declares, walking into the kitchen and peering over the Ambassador's shoulder. He walks over to Spock next and looks at the two plates of salad she and Spock have gotten out, one of which she's still holding. "Not yum."

"That phrase is not grammatically correct."

"Good thing you found yourself a linguist," Puri laughs, smacking Spock on the shoulder. "A linguist who also seems to subsist on greenery."

"The correct term is lettuce."

"Where is your wife?" Taele asks, ripping off a large piece of lamb.

"Around here somewhere."

"You do not know her exact location?"

"Not in the kitchen," Puri specifies. "We're not like Spock and Uhura here, joined at the hip."

Spock actually glanced down at the space between their bodies, which makes Nyota consider smiling.

"They are not," Taele says, her gaze so piercing that Nyota feels herself wanting to shrink back from it, and her tone so disapproving that Nyota thinks she should probably take a step closer to Spock.

She doesn't, though, just sets the plate she's holding in front of him on the counter so that he can add anything more to it, or not, since she wouldn't put it past him to think a salad with lettuce, a couple pieces of carrots, and a single disc of cucumber is an acceptable meal. Probably no dressing, either, she guesses, pulling open Pike's refrigerator and sorting through it to find anything else she can add to her lunch.

It's mostly beer, wine and enormous pieces of meat for the Ambassador and she's about to give up and live with a completely boring salad or try to see how good the replicator is when she feels a wash of heat at her back and Spock's standing over her, behind her, reaching up into the top of the back shelf where she can't see let alone reach and handing her a small container of olives.

"Thank you," she says, looking down at where he's placed it in her hands. He retrieves a block of cheese as well, and a jar of dressing from the shelf on the door, even though she probably could have reached that one. "Want some?" she asks, waving the container of olives at him.

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Is it not logical to explore new experiences?" When he doesn't answer, she can't help but shake her head at him. "Fine, enjoy your boring lunch."

"Is it not all relative?"

"Hush," she instructs. "And hand me a fork."

He does, holding it out by the handle so that she either has the choice of grabbing the tines or putting her fingers close enough to his that their hands might touch. She hesitates, reaches for it, avoids his skin, and ignores the heat that sweeps over her fingers in favor of forking olives onto her plate.

Puri's neatly sawing off a piece of tenderloin, the Ambassador is still tearing at her lamb, and Nyota can't help but glance out at the sun soaked porch, feeling like she wants to take her salad as far from potential contact with raw meat as possible. That, and if Spock is going to retrieve lunch items for her, she might as well be nice and eat where he wants to.

"I will join you as well," Taele informs them when they start outside and that's really less than ideal, but the sun feels nice and the olives and cheese are nicer still, and there are probably worse things in life than having lunch with a man who was only ever supposed to be her professor and the Ambassador chewing on raw meat.

"I feel like we have a very disapproving, very overbearing, carnivorous shadow," she tells Spock when the Ambassador finally takes a break from watching them eat in order to retrieve another leg of lamb. "Think she's going to be this into us until Sunday? I think Stoyer might have had the right plan, disappearing for a couple hours."

"That may very well be the case."

"Are you bummed that it's illogical to spend too much time avoiding the Ambassador?"

"No."

"I am," she says, stabbing at an olive.

"You could have avoided attending this weekend."

She glances over at him, then down at her salad, and then off into the hazy hills, the desert stretching out past Pike's porch.

"It's all right." She adds a piece of cheese to her fork before popping both it and the olive in her mouth. "I miss my paper, though."

"Most humans express excitement and eagerness for a break from their responsibilities."

"Well, I'm weird, what can I say, don't tell me you haven't picked up on that by now." She shrugs and drags a piece of carrot through a smear of dressing. "And I don't like vacation."

"What are your normal pursuits during such?"

"Finding research advisors to date."

"Truly?"

"No." She chews the carrot, swallows it. "Just this once, thought I'd try it out for posterity's sake. What do you normally do when the Academy's not in session?"

"Other professional pursuits."

"Well," she says, sorting through her lettuce for another olive and spying one hidden under a leaf. "Aren't we just two peas in a pod?"

"Pardon?"

"I meant that we're alike."

"Ah."

"I'll even prove it: what do you do on weekends?"

"Work."

"Like looking in a mirror," she says. "Except for the fact that I make better salads than you do."

"Again, a relative measure. And there are no mirrors out here, nor do you and I bear any resemblance to each other even if there were."

"Still," she says, spearing a cucumber. "Although, sometimes I go out with my roommate."

"Out?"

"Bars, drinking, dancing, illogical human frivolity."

"Cultural traditions are not illogical."

"What we get up to those nights might be." She realizes what she's said, then, to an officer. "I, uh, don't actually drink that much, though." He's still just looking at her, a few pieces of lettuce speared on his fork, though he's making no move to eat them, and she wonders if he's calculating the likelihood that she's lying. Not telling the whole truth, really, since she doesn't normally drink that much, not that she particularly feels the need to disseminate her typical alcohol consumption with him, and she's at least generally better behaved than Gaila and Kirk.

And, whatever, he's not her actual boyfriend, his opinion of her life doesn't matter outside of the bounds of him overseeing her paper, and he can think of her what he will. If he wants to imagine her cavorting over the greater San Francisco area, picking up men and partying the night away, he can, no matter that that supposition would hardly be accurate.

"I, too, was a cadet, I am familiar with the particular activities undertaken during leisure time, not to mention that which officers are predisposed towards while on shore leave."

"Yeah, well, if it's really all relative, then do Vulcans have wild parties and spend the night out on the town?"

"No."

"Alcohol doesn't effect Vulcans, right? But if you're half human, can you get drunk?"

"No."

"Do you know this through empirical evidence or is this deduction derived through extrapolated theory?" she asks, skewering him with a look.

"Your earlier statement suggested that you do not pursue a balanced mix of activities in your leisure time."

"First of all, you knew that, second of all, I don't have leisure time since I'm a cadet as we've established, and third of all, way to change the subject." She pauses and takes the moment to impale a slice of tomato. "And, fourth, actually, when you do that you're really just admitting that you don't want to answer, which only gives me reason to guess what your answer would be."

"I am pleased to offer you the opportunity to practice your powers of logical deduction."

"Thank you," she says primly. "But I'm still putting money on the fact that you, at some point, set out to find exactly what effect alcohol has on your genetic makeup. Was it with Puri? I bet it was with Puri."

"Are those individual wagers or combined?"

"Individual."

"You are aware that gambling violates the Academy code of conduct."

"And you're aware that like eighty percent of cadets enjoy weekly poker games."

"Eight three."

"What do you do, go around and count?"

"You evidently do not, as that pursuit was not listed among those that you engage in."

"Well, I prefer to hold on to my credits so that I can use them to make the big bucks on certain Commanders I know and their sordid pasts. Speeding tickets, drinking, what else have you gotten up to?" she asks, folding one leg over the other and watching him like she'll be able to figure out the answer if she stares at him long enough. "Is there a string of women who have had their hearts broken by you?"

"That phrase is illogical."

"Knew it."

"I have not admitted to-"

"You saying you don't date doesn't mean a whole lot, I'm thinking," she says, looking at him there sitting in the sun, his forearms resting on the table and his hands neatly laced – and he has big hands, she's realizing, looking at them. The way he's sitting is making his shirt stretch across his arms and she's never really bothered to look, not like she is now, but he must work out more than she would have ever thought, if him working out was something she spent any time thinking about in the first place.

And he does have that quiet, reserved demeanor which probably a lot of women would take for being mysterious and intriguing, especially if they were never forced to actually hold a conversation with him and find out just how infuriating the man is.

"Now you are being illogical, that is spurious reasoning at best."

"No, at best I'm right," she says.

The problem is that now that she's though about it, she wants to ask him about him dating, wants to ask if him saying that he doesn't date is some knee-jerk response he has, some semantic, overly particular interpretation that leaves plenty of room for other pursuits and, knowing him, plenty of confusion both on his part and the part of whoever he would have undertaken such an experience with.

She makes herself let the topic drop because what he does or doesn't do – or did or didn't do – with nameless, faceless women really isn't her business, and there's no need to make the fact that they're sharing a bed any more awkward than it needs to be, not if she's going to keep up a conversation that makes her want to return her gaze to the way his shirt fits him so incredibly well.

And she isn't going to just sit there in silence with him and wait to see if the Ambassador comes out to bother them again, so she asks "When you're not out not pretending to date your former students and you're not downing shots and you're not getting pulled over for going a tenth of a mile per hour over the speed limit and say you're between projects at work, what else do you get up to? If there's really nothing else to do?"

He must want to drop the topic, too, and move on, because he actually answers her.

"At times, I travel."

"Really?" she asks, scooping up the last bit of her lettuce even though it's a little mashed and too soggy from sitting in a pool of dressing. "Where?"

"I wished to see the northern lights, so I went to Alaska."

"Let me guess, you stayed for like two seconds and then immediately got back in the car and turned the heat up full blast." She pauses, studying him. "That, or you never got out of the car."

"I got out of the car."

"Really?"

"I said that I did."

"For how long?"

"I took the opportunity to observe the beginning of the Iditarod."

"Oh, neat. I mean, that's interesting. Was it cool?"

"It was quite cold, yes."

She smiles at him, shaking her head slowly. "Where else do you go?"

"The Atacama desert."

"And?"

"To see the Nazca Lines."

"And?"

"The Pyramids, as well as the Great Wall, the Amazon rainforest, and the Acropolis."

"Geez I haven't even been to most of those places and I grew up here." She drops her fork onto her plate and stares over at him, slightly amazed that he took the time to look around Earth so thoroughly. "But then again, if I went to Vulcan I'd probably want to spend the entire trip seeing the Forge, Mouth Seleya, and the Temple of Amonak."

"You are well versed in Vulcan landmarks."

"Well, it's very nearly like travelling, looking up pictures and wishing you had the time and credits to go."

"That is not an accurate substitution."

"Obviously," she mutters.

"You were being sarcastic."

"Yep." She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms and looking at him, imagining him going to all these places. By himself, she thinks, and doesn't even need to ask in order to confirm the fact that he wouldn't have brought anybody with him, since if she's learned anything about him at all, it's that he hates interesting food and does an admirable job avoiding contact with others as much as possible.

Which is probably why they're sitting on their own on the porch and he finished his salad ten minutes ago because there was basically nothing on it.

"What was your favorite trip?" she asks, because she doesn't really want to go back inside yet, not if the Ambassador is in there.

"They all had their own unique strengths and weaknesses."

"I bet you hated Alaska the most."

"I do not hate anything."

"Except olives. Oh, wait, you've never tried them, so they might be your new favorite food and you'd never know. And, God, Spock, you went all the way to Greece and didn't get any? Let me guess, you went to Rome, too, and had plain pasta?"

"I did not stay long enough for a meal."

"Knew it. What, you dropped in, saw the Colosseum, and got back to the Academy before dinner was over?"

"As I was staying in Paris, the return trip did not take very long. Nor did I see the Colosesum, I was more interested in the Pantheon."

"Paris?" she asks. "Did you at least get a croissant?"

"No."

"What were you even doing there, then? Isn't that half the point?"

"The Federation council was in session and my father's attendance was required. I was too young to be left on Vulcan."

"But old enough to go to Rome?" she asks and she doesn't know what's weirder, the fact that he shared that with her or the fact that when he talks about his parents, he's talking about the Vulcan Ambassador and his wife. He doesn't answer her question, just arranges his silverware so that they're perfectly parallel on his plate and she finds herself staring at him again, her mind churning, before she blurs out, "Oh my God, shut up."

"Pardon?"

"You didn't tell your parents you went." She laughs and has to resist the urge to kick him under the table. "I can't believe you, how old were you?"

"How did you-"

"-You totally skipped town, took yourself on an afternoon-long tour of Europe, and got back before anyone knew you were missing."

He doesn't answer for a long moment and then she thinks he maybe sighs. "It was morning."

She doesn't ask if it was logical, because it either was and that's no fun to tease him about, or it wasn't and somehow forcing him to admit that feels like it might ruin the moment, so instead she just smiles again and asks, "Have you ever told them?"

"No."

"I think I'm going to write a letter to one Ambassador Sarek, Vulcan Embassy, outlining your adolescent adventures."

"That is not a sufficiently specific mailing address."

"You will tell them yourself in person," Taele says and Nyota jumps, her hand pressed to her chest with how suddenly the Ambassador appeared behind her.

"Wha- What?" she asks, trying to slow her pulse and wondering if it's ok to ask Taele to maybe announce herself next time, instead of just gliding silently out onto the porch.

"There is a reception at Starfleet Headquarters next week and the Commander's parents will be in attendance."

"What?" Nyota asks again, this time of Spock.

"I found it, ma'am," Puri yells out the door, holding up a rack of ribs. "I'll split them with you, if you want."

"I will return," Taele says, leaving her plate with a pile of raw lamb on it on the table and going back inside, the door falling shut behind her.

"Your parents are coming?" Nyota asks when she's sure the Ambassador – and the only Ambassador who she has any intention of dealing with this summer – is gone.

"Indeed." He adjusts his fork, even though she's sure he doesn't need to, since it was already perfectly aligned. "I had not thought to inform you of that fact."

"Good, that's good. Because we're not, I'm not- This doesn't mean that I have to-"

"No," he says just as quickly, that Vulcan austerity and composure fracturing just for a second with how rushed that word is, before he's calm again, his expression perfectly blank. "Meeting them will not be necessary."

"Good," she says, then repeats herself to drive home the fact that she really, really doesn't want to have to meet his parents. "Good, that's good."

"Indeed," he says and she doesn't think she's the only one who sounds relieved.

"Want to make ourselves scarce before the Ambassador comes out here and attacks another innocent cut of meat?" she asks since she really doesn't want to sit there any longer and stew on the idea of his parents being in town.

And he must not either, or maybe that was just enough sharing for the day, because he follows her inside to do their dishes without complaint and without making further conversation.

…

She knows that he feels that slight, unconscious jump when his fingers graze over her back and just hopes that the Ambassador who's just sitting there watching them doesn't also see it.

"Rhaeinae," she says, because she's a linguist and she should be able to debate whether or not it's a legal Scrabble word with Hawkins, no matter that Spock's hand is warm and gentle on her shoulder blade.

"Would you like a cup of tea tea?" he asks, quietly, and she nods, half listening because tea is their thing and it's normal and ordinary, and it's easier to focus on outdated Cardassian than it is to think about his hand and how soft his voice is.

He stands from where he's been sitting on the couch behind her, his knee a careful six inches from her shoulder since he didn't want to play, didn't want to join them cross-legged on the floor with the game spread over the coffee table.

She had been half expecting him to disappear as soon as he turned them down, and she thinks maybe he had been thinking the same thing because he had hesitated before sitting there so close to her, watching in silence as she and Hawkins decided on what languages would be fair game.

"Not to late to jump in," Hawkins says when Spock gets back with two steaming mugs.

Spock pauses in that way of his, where she knows he's parsing Hawkin's phrase, silently running through options of what it might mean. She's about to explain it to him when he sits down on the couch again, holding one mug out to her.

"No, thank you," he says so seriously that he could have been offered a transfer to another ship, an opportunity for command that he needed to carefully consider before turning it down.

He seems to also be carefully considering touching her again, but he doesn't, which is a good thing because his hand on her is way, way too distracting for what a good player Hawkins is.

"You're welcome to join, as well," Nyota says to Taele, who is watching them over steepled fingers, her elbows braced on the arms of her chair.

"No."

"Kind of would have thought Scrabble would be your thing," she tells Spock, later, when she's sliding the tiles back into their bag and Hawkins has found a convenient reason to be somewhere other than where the Ambassador is.

"Games are illogical."

"Not really, though. It's a good way to learn new vocabulary and it's mentally challenging." At least more mentally challenging than just sitting around all day, what with the ban on school work. Or, more mentally challenging for her, maybe not for him. Maybe for someone with a Vulcan intellect, playing word games is the equivalent of watching paint dry. "Plus, it's a good bonding activity, or are you still not into the idea of making yourself accessible to the crew?"

"I am here," he says stiffly and she has to nod and give him credit for that.

"Beer? Wine? Tequila shots?" Olson asks, sticking his head into the room. "We're getting this weekend started."

"Has it not yet begun?" Spock asks, looking at the doorway Olson just vanished from when Nyota said yes to a glass of wine.

"Started, started," she clarifies. "Yet another good chance to get to know everyone in a way that has nothing to do with work."

"I do not drink."

"Well, your loss. Or ours, if you wanted to reprise your experiment of alcohol on your system." She closes the small bag of tiles and drops it into the box the game came in. "Although, I'm sure that by subsisting on fruit and vegetables and avoiding alcohol, you're much healthier than all of us. No wonder you all live so long."

"It is logical to adhere to a healthy lifestyle."

"Hmm, but indulging yourself every once in a while must carry it's own certain rationality," she says, thinking about a nice bar of chocolate. Or, rather, the glass of wine that Olson drops off for her before retreating from the room again.

"How do you play?" Spock asks, nodding at the Scrabble board.

"You didn't pick it up just by watching us?"

"I was referring more to your particular strategy."

"My strategy is to win. Take no prisoners, no mercy, a swift and resounding defeat."

"Is a physical alteration with your opponent an integral part of the game? It did not appear to be so."

"If you want to play instead of sitting around while everyone drinks, you can just say." He doesn't, though, and she stops waiting for him to do so and instead just starts taking the tiles back out of the bag. "One game and then I'm going to go schmooze with people I want jobs from someday."

"I am tasked with much of the hiring for the _Enterprise_."

"Then let's hope you're not put off by getting your… getting beat by a subordinate."

"Getting my?" he repeats and he doesn't sit on the floor but perches on the edge of the couch, so that when he leans forward to study the board, his shirt pulls taut against the long line of his back. She can see the dip of his spine and the hard juts of his shoulder blades. He's really not as skinny and bony as she always considered him, but quite a bit more built, in a lean and graceful sort of way that she never noticed before.

She clears her throat and goes to sit on the other side of the board from him.

"Getting your ass handed to you. Draw a letter, let's see who goes first. And I'll let you pick the languages, you know what I speak."

"I trust you will be a formidable opponent in any of them?" he asks, choosing a T out of the bag.

"Stone cold wordsmith," she promises him. "Consider yourself warned."

"You were not so seemingly ruthless with Lieutenant Hawkins," he says and only then does she realize that Taele is still in the room, silently watching them. It's no matter, though, since she can clobber Spock with an audience as well as she can without one.

"Ah, well, I have high hopes for you, Commander."

"Likewise, Cadet."

…

"Oh shit," Pike says. "I'm sorry, Spock." He's frowning at the burgers he just placed on the grill, his lips pursed like he can somehow sort out a solution, like this is a sticky First Contact. "I meant to throw something on for you, first."

"It is of no consequence," Spock answers and Nyota really, really wants the last of the potato salad she had just served herself – because apparently Pike can captain a starship, but he can't get all the dishes for dinner out at the same time, and burgers are the last thing to get cooked – but she beat Spock handily, twice, and the guy probably deserves dinner after that.

"Here," she says, handing him her plate, though she retrieves her fork from it before doing so since he doesn't exactly seem like a swapping spit type of person, nor are they actually doing so on the regular, no matter what everyone else thinks about them.

"That is your food."

"Take it."

"No."

"Eat it."

"No."

"Just do it, Spock."

"Why?"

"Because otherwise you're going to have a piece of bread for dinner. Probably plain, maybe accompanied by a glass of water if you're really feeling fancy."

He had been upstairs while the rest of them had started eating, either licking his wounds after being resoundingly trounced or, more likely, taking the opportunity to meditate while she was busy helping Pike cook. Vulcans may not sleep a lot, but at least humans don't need uninterrupted peace and quiet, not to mention complete privacy in order to maintain their equilibrium, and she had carefully avoided their room in case that was what he was doing.

She's also making a habit of avoiding that room, in general, which is why she's still in short sleeves and is freezing cold, and that reality is not helping the fact that she either wants him to take the food or not, so that she can either eat it or cross her arms around herself in order to warm up. Standing there, holding her plate out to him and bickering with him is a poor substitute for either option, both of which would involve the chance to continue drinking her wine, as well.

"I made it myself, extra special," she promises, not that that will make a difference to him, since the only real way to get him to eat it would probably be to just serve him an ungarnished, boiled potato with a side of logic, but she can try.

And he must be hungry, though who wouldn't be after such a tiny salad for lunch, because he finally takes it from her.

"Thank you."

"Careful, it tastes good, you might just like it," she tells him, then goes off to find something that might be equally delicious, though probably not, and hopefully warm.

She's not the only one who's feeling the chill of the desert night, and it becomes more apparent as everyone who was sitting relaxed, loose and limber in the setting sun begins to cross their legs and arms and huddles into their jackets. Nobody goes inside, though, since the stars are bright and clear, and Olson and McKenna brought out a cooler of drinks, and the moon is rising out over the hills.

The crickets start up, then, a perfect harmony to the setting sun and Nyota can't help but mind a little less that she's wishing for the sweater that's tucked into her bag, since she's certainly not leaving this moment, the sky lit up and pinks and golds and reds, to go up and retrieve it.

"Cold?" she hears Puri ask Stoyer, and he unzips his coat to drape around her shoulders.

"Thanks, hon," Stoyer says, snuggling under his arm. "And I'm fine, but Uhura – oh my God, don't move."

"What?" Nyota asks, glancing over, only to find Stoyer staring at her.

"That's awesome," Olson says, leaning past McKenna to stare at her, too.

"That's huge," Hawkins says, drawing back slightly.

"What is it?" Nyota asks, following all of their gazes towards her arm. The back of her arm, which she can't see without twisting, and from the way they're all looking at her, she doesn't really want to find out what's on her.

She's a Starfleet cadet, she reminds herself, forcing air in and out of her lungs. And if it's really gross and has lots of legs and, God, hair, she is really, really not going to freak out in front of a bunch of officers.

"Give me your shoe," McKenna says, elbowing Olson.

"Use your own damn shoe."

"Nah, that's going to make a big mess."

"Can you-" she asks, really wishing someone would just help her. But she's a Starfleet cadet and she can help herself and she's going to do so any minute, as soon as she screws up the courage to actually look.

And then Spock's standing over her and this time she doesn't flinch when his hands touch her, even though they're right there on her bare skin, because he's brushing whatever it is into his palm and she lets out the breath that's been caught in her throat.

"Ugh, squish it," McKenna says.

"To hold one life above another is illogical."

"But it's a spider," he says, grimacing.

"If you would like to debate the value of its existence versus that of a sentient being, I am more than amenable. However, such a discussion does not invalidate the fact that we and it can peacefully coexist in the same space."

"What if it had bitten her?"

Spock looks down at her. "I am certain of her ability to overcome such an occurrence."

She's not entirely sure that's actually true, because from what she can see of it, the thing is enormous and she feels a bit like shrieking just at the thought of it.

But Spock's already placing it on the ground near the edge of the porch and watching, probably so that McKenna can't enact revenge upon it for merely existing.

"Thanks," she says, when he comes back over to her.

"No thanks is necessary."

"Still," she says, crossing her arms around herself and rubbing her hands up and down her arms, not only because she's still cold, but also because she can't help but feel like she should maybe check for any other unwelcome guests.

His gaze follows her movements. "I am going to retrieve another garment, if you would like one."

"Oh, uh," she says, then nods because she's really freezing and that's actually really nice of him. "Thanks, I packed a sweater."

"Very well."

"It's in my bag."

"I surmised as much," he replies and she gives him one of his own raised eyebrows in response.

"I want mine too. Your coat as well, but also my sweater," Stoyer says to Puri, who sighs, kisses the top of her head, and stands up to follow Spock into the house.

Spock hands it to her when he gets back and she gratefully shrugs it on, trying to ignore the way her mind is busy remembering exactly how she packed her bag and what else he may have seen while he retrieved it. He spares her from having to think to closely about it, thankfully, because he wanders off with Puri a few steps down the porch, their backs to the group as they stare out across the desert, so that instead of Spock next to her, Stoyer sits down.

"I'm surprised the Ambassador doesn't just follow the two of them around instead of the actual couples," Stoyer whispers and Nyota can't help but smile and glance over at the two men again.

"They've always been like this?"

"I was pretty sure that if I wanted to date Puri, Spock would be part of the package. I don't think I ever saw them apart from each other until I very, very explicitly told Puri exactly what type of relationship I wanted with him."

"And he told Spock to scram?"

"Guess so. Or Spock figured it out, he's kind of a genius."

"Definitely a genius. Maybe not one at Scrabble, though," Nyota grins.

Stoyer stares over at them, a fond smile on his face.

"Do you ever get the feeling that Spock doesn't like you and is too polite to say it?" Stoyer asks, then laughs, shaking her head. "No, I'm sure you haven't, I'm pretty sure Spock likes you more than he likes pretty much anyone he's ever met."

"You might be surprised," Nyota murmurs, quietly enough that Stoyer doesn't seem to hear her.

"Well, it's just to say that he was not my biggest fan, not by a long shot," Stoyer says, still shaking her head and staring into her drink. "That year that I started dating Puri, I mean. Though I like to think that he's come around to me a bit since then."

"Really?" Nyota asks, swirling her wine slowly in her glass and watching the way the liquid moves.

"Oh, I don't think I would have ever really known, except that later on he warmed up so much that there was a noticeable difference. Or, well, warm up maybe isn't the right way to put it," the other woman laughs. "You know what I mean."

"I do."

"And I don't mean to say anything bad about him," Stoyer adds, quickly, glancing over at Nyota. "He's really… he's been some of the best part of being with Puri, getting to know him and Puri having a friend like that."

"I'm sure."

They fall silent for a long moment and Nyota's busy trying to imagine Spock as a cadet when Stoyer speaks again.

And this time there's a huge grin on the other woman's face.

"You gonna meet Spock's parents? The Ambassador mentioned to me and Puri that they're coming soon."

"Oh, that's… that's kind of… I don't think that, uh-" Nyota busies herself with her own wineglass, trying not to grimace at it and trying to wipe her mind blank of the image of cadet reds and Spock.

"Too soon?" Stoyer supplies.

"We're not really doing the whole parent thing," Nyota says, nodding quickly, that familiar guilt taking up residence in her stomach at the fact that Stoyer so easily believes that they're actually together and as such, being introduced to his parents would just be part of that. "It's a little… it's a little much."

"Hmm." Stoyer's still watching her and Nyota resists the urge to wince under that steady gaze.

"What?" she asks.

"Nothing," the other woman says, shaking her head. "Well, ok, it's just that you two are so… and he… No, nothing, none of my business."

"It's a lot," Nyota says, searching for something to say that's true. "And it's really only been this summer that he and I have been doing this, and before that I was in his class, and…"

"Sometimes the more serious it is, the harder things like that are," Stoyer says gently and Nyota wants to correct her, wants to tell her that that's not it at all, but she can't. Instead, she retreats into her glass of wine, taking another drink and wishing that this hadn't become so complicated that she's sitting there with a dean, trying to remember what's fact and what's fiction about this mess she's in with Spock.

He's always so quiet, so withdrawn that when she looks over towards him again, she's hardly surprised to find that he's slipped away without her, or anyone else besides maybe Puri, noticing.

"Ever wonder why she's all here alone?"

"Hmm?" Nyota jerks her gaze away from where Spock had been. Puri's moved, too, only to go over and talk to the Ambassador.

"The Ambassador. Taele. If she's so dead set on us being in a relationship, where's her significant other?"

"No, I hadn't really considered that," Nyota answers, looking over at Taele, who's eating a bowl of ground beef drowned in gravy like it's cereal, and glancing around again for Spock. "Though I don't know if her having a date would be better because she'd be occupied, or worse because there'd be two of them." She pauses, then winces. "I mean, not that, uh, I didn't meant to imply that I don't-"

"I know what you mean," Stoyer assures her, patting Nyota's knee gently. "Not officially, of course."

"Of course."

Nyota keeps looking around and finally spots Spock through the windows, standing inside in the kitchen washing dishes. It figures, of course, that he probably couldn't stand having them dirty, everyone else so occupied spending time together and enjoying the long summer evening to even think about them, but they would have niggled at him, gotten under his skin that they weren't washed yet.

"I just wonder, you know?" Stoyer's asking and Nyota pulls her attention away from Spock. "Why she's like that? I get cultural relativity, all those theories – literally taught the class on it for a good few years – but she hasn't exactly opened up about why she is how she is. Has she said anything to you about it?"

"No, not at all."

"And she even followed you two around all day. Thanks for that, by the way, sorry to stick you with her."

"It's no problem," Nyota says, since it isn't, not really. She's not here to actually enjoy herself, she's here to help Spock get those crystals, beautiful vistas of the sun setting over the desert and glasses of nice wine not withstanding.

"You'll do well in your career, if I had to guess," Stoyer says like she's reading Nyota's mind and she swallows, hoping she isn't being too transparent, but the other woman continues on easily. "Being able to handle that for a full day."

"We went for a walk," Nyota says and tries to keep her tone light. "Got away from her for a bit."

"She didn't follow?"

"Probably wanted to ensure we got some quality time together," Nyota answers, though now she's wondering what Taele did while they were gone, and thinking of their walk makes her glance at Spock again, makes her peer through the windows to make out his solitary form in the kitchen, bent over the sink like he is.

"Probably," Stoyer nods, her focus still on the Ambassador. "I just really want to figure her out, why she feels the need to always be with us, except for everyone once in a while when she lets us be alone."

"Lonely," she says. She blinks and tears her eyes from Spock, since she's looking at him again.

"What?"

"I was… I meant that I think she's lonely, that's why she does that, follows us around, wants us to be together."

"Huh." Stoyer squints over at the Ambassador. "Hadn't thought of that."

"I'm going to go give him a hand," Nyota says, pointing back into the house at Spock and standing, grabbing her wineglass and heading inside before Stoyer can answer.

"Hey," Nyota says and she knows he must have been able to hear her coming from the moment she stepped into the house but he only looks up from scrubbing the pan when she's standing next to him. "Pike doesn't have sonics out here to clean everything? How quaint."

"I apologize," he says to the sponge he's holding, "For leaving you alone. You asked me to cease vacating such situations and-"

"Yeah, it's no problem." She grabs a dishtowel and runs it over a plate, the ceramic still warm from the water.

"It was an _argiope aurantia_."

"What?"

"The arachnid was an _argiope aurantia_, it was not poisonous. You would have at most suffered mild irritation that could have been ameliorated with a dermal regenerator within moments."

"It was fine," she assures him. "And I'm sure the spider is enjoying his stay of execution."

"Her," Spock corrects.

"Her," she echoes.

She boosts herself up onto the counter and sits there, one leg crossed over the other and her heel drumming against the cabinet as she continues to dry the dishes.

"That is an illogical place to sit."

"So?"

He just looks at her, then down at the counter, then turns back to the pan he's scrubbing.

"It is unhygienic."

"But isn't drying dishes with the same towel that's been sitting out in the kitchen all day also kind of gross, when you think about it? Wiping the same piece of fabric over everything that we're going to eat off of tomorrow?"

He looks down at the plate in her hand, but can't seem to come up with a response.

"How was your dinner?" she asks when he doesn't speak again, or show any sign that he intends to.

"Palatable."

"You should be a restaurant critic."

He pauses in scrubbing a plate. "That was sarcasm."

"Yep," she nods. "You having the worst time ever?" she asks when he remains silent and she'd dried a half dozen glasses. "I could invent some type of emergency and we could go home."

"No," he says, but doesn't indicate which remark he's answering and she doesn't push it.

"Will you-" she starts, but she's distracted by a loud laugh from outside, so that right in the middle of what she was about to say, she's both looking out the window and reaching for a handful of forks, and her fingers bump against his. "God, sorry, I'm sorry," she says, the words tumbling over each other. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Her entire hand feels warm and though it's gone now, something had sparked and prickled over her skin like a strange tickle. She drops the dishtowel to rub her other fingers over her knuckles, which still feel weirdly tingly.

"Sorry," she says, again, then picks up the towel and the small pile of forks he's left on the counter, which is probably a better plan that actually handing things to each other.

"What were you going to say?" he asks without looking at her, after she's dried the forks, and the knives, and three spoons.

"I was going to… Uh," she starts, blinking at the spoon she's holding. It's dry and has been dry for a while now, she realizes. "Oh, I was going to ask if you'd traveled anywhere else on Earth."

"Stonehenge."

"How was that?"

"It was raining."

She can't help but laugh and she sets the spoon down, her hand still slightly warm. But her face is, too, and has been ever since they touched.

"Have you been to Victoria Falls?" she asks.

"No. That is near where you were raised, correct?"

"Talk about relative. Closer than here, still really far. Africa's huge, most of our maps don't really represent how big."

"I have not spent much time there."

"Except for checking out the Pyramids."

"And the Sphinx."

"And the Sphinx," she echoes. He hands her the last plate and as she dries it, she tries to not watch his hands as he wipes down the area around the sink. "You going to go back outside tonight?"

He glances out the windows and she follows his gaze, watching McKenna open yet another round of beers and pass them out.

"Perhaps."

"Best of five at Scrabble?"

She thinks that maybe he looks a little surprised that she offered, but he nods.

He definitely looks surprised when she pours out the rest of her wine and quickly washes the glass.

"You do not want more?" he asks and she shakes her head.

"I need my wits about me. Especially since after I beat you again, I might up the ante and offer to play you in chess."

"The Captain has a set?" Spock asks and she hears a note in his voice that either hasn't been there before, or she hasn't noticed it, a tremor of excitement that makes her glance up at him.

"There was one in the cupboard when I got Scrabble out," she tells him, feeling slightly self congratulatory that she correctly guessed that he would be partial to a match.

"Do you know how to play?"

"Nope."

"You are willing to learn?"

"I am willing to beat you in it, if that's what you're asking."

"I was not. You are overly competitive."

"Too bad," she tells him, following him over to where they left the Scrabble board that afternoon. "Get used to it."

"It would appear that I have no choice but to do so."

"Yep. You're totally stuck with me." She's pulled a P out of the bag and has handed it to him before she realizes what she's said. "For the weekend, I mean."

"I am aware," he replies and she doesn't look at the way his long fingers reach into the bag.

"And to think we could have been back home doing work," she says with a sigh because he managed to pull out a B. But her sigh is less wistful than it might have been because she has some really great choices when she draws her tiles and the first word he lays down gives her lots of options.

It could be better – Gaila could be there, she could actually have a real date to spend the weekend with, she could not be being stalked by an overbearing foreign dignitary – but all in all, she thinks, looking at him across the board, his features drawn in concentration, his brows furrowed together from the game not from her driving him nuts, it wasn't really the worst way to spend a day.

…

_12/28/2014: My friends, I am so sorry for the long delay. Finals were crazy – good but crazy (thank you for all your kind words and well wishes!), and then the holidays were full of food and family and less fandom then I would prefer. But, here is this chapter and the next are well on their way, plus I have an added bonus for all of you of just having posted a very fluffy, very charming (if I do say so myself), very short story called 'What We Will Find' that is not at all like this story, but hopefully fun to read in its own way. Thanks for your patience between chapters of 'The Place Between', I don't anticipate any further interruptions the likes of this past one, and most important, Happy New Year to you all and I hope you have a lovely end of 2014 and beginning of 2015!_


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